#means gale's one might have to half the word count so i can get back on track

[creepling]

well i got ratarsed after work and got no writing done, so i think an all nighter is in session to get this first kinktober out there. pray 4 me.

[gale-force-storm]

Devoured

Rating: E

Pairing: Gale x female!Reader

Additional Tags: Overstimulation, cunnilingus, praise kink, cock warming, aftercare, second person POV

Word Count: 1.8k

Read it on AO3

You thought it would be a great anniversary gift, letting Gale tie you up and do whatever he pleased with you. What you didn't expect (foolishly, in hindsight) was for "whatever he pleased" to mean spending literal hours using that practiced tongue of his to take you apart.

Inspired by this post from the always delightful @naughtybg3confessions

“You're sure you're alright with this?”

“Yes, Gale,” you insist with a small laugh. “I am the one who suggested this, remember?”

“I know, I know. I just want to make sure.” He finishes tying the soft length of fabric around your wrists, securing them to the headboard above you. “How is that? Comfortable? Not too tight?”

You pull at the restraints, testing them. “Feels good,” you confirm. “Secure, but not too tight.”

“Good.” He smiles and leans down, kissing you gently.

“Well, your anniversary present is all tied up in a bow for you,” you say with a devious grin when he pulls away. “I’m all yours, sweetheart. Do your worst.”

“Be careful what you wish for, my love. I just might grant it,” he teases. He kisses you again, but his mouth quickly strays away from yours, moving over your jaw, down your neck, to your chest. He teases at your nipples, mouth on one, fingers on the other, lingering briefly before continuing his path down.

“Gale,” you sigh, half pleased and half exasperated, “this is supposed to be about your pleasure.”

“Trust me my love,” he replies, smirking against your skin, “it will be.”

You huff out another breath, letting your head drop back. You’ll indulge him for now. Besides, you think at the first warm press of his mouth to your center, you would never truly complain about getting to have his mouth on you.

He pauses briefly to grab a spare pillow and position it under your hips, raising them higher for easier access. He pulls your legs up, resting your thighs over his shoulders, and kisses one of them before turning his attention back to your cunt, where your arousal is already obvious.

“Always so wet for me,” he sighs appreciatively. “So eager.”

“Always for you, my love.”

He beams up at you, all love and wonder and pride. “Truly, I could ask for no greater gift than you.”

He leans in, licking from your entrance up to your clit, humming his pleasure. He licks a few more times like this, broad strokes of his tongue, savoring you, and you settle back into the warm, familiar pleasure. You moan in encouragement as he slips his tongue into you, his nose pressing against your clit. Yes, you can certainly let him do this for a while. Since he’s insisting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You fear you’ve miscalculated. You really should have known better than to underestimate Gale. There are tears running down your face. Your throat is raw from screaming and moaning. You would try to squirm away from the inescapable, overwhelming pleasure of his tongue, his lips, his fingers, but you’re too tired at this point from doing so for the last... how long has it been? Two hours? Three? More? You’ve lost track, just like you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve come against his relentless mouth. He gives another calculated thrust of his fingers, another hard suck to your clit, and you cry out, overstimulation bringing the pleasure near the edge of pain.

“Please, Gale, please, I can’t,” you pant. He looks up, but doesn’t pull his mouth more than an inch away from you.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Gods, but his warm breath against your soaked flesh makes you shiver. You can only bring yourself to whine.

“I need your words, love. Do you want me to stop?” he asks firmly.

You work to catch your breath and try to remember how to form words.

“No,” you finally manage to whimper. “Don’t stop.” You see the corners of Gale’s eyes crinkle with his smile.

“Good girl,” he murmurs before diving back in. You sob, overwhelmed, as he continues his sweet torture, lapping at your cunt like a man starved as though he hasn’t been devouring you for hours. Your hips twitch weakly as you feel the pressure impossibly begin to mount once more, building under his skilled attention. You flutter around him and he moans, the vibrations pulling another sob from your throat.

“That’s it, lovely,” he murmurs as he works you. “One more. You can give me one more can’t you?”

You shake your head, but the rest of your body tells a different story, your legs twitching beyond your control where they rest over his shoulders, hips bucking without rhythm.

“I think you can,” he continues. “I think you can have another for me. Let me taste the sweetness of your pleasure once more.”

You moan, high and strained, as your body moves ever closer to that precipice. You feel delirious, on the edge of madness as much as the edge of pleasure. Gale is ruthlessly efficient as he pushes you on, sucking and licking your clit eagerly as his fingers rub precisely at the spot inside you that makes your head spin. The choked sound you make as you finish once again is somewhere between a whimper and a sob. Gale groans deeply as you clench weakly around his fingers, muscles too tired for more than a weak, fluttering orgasm. He laps at you softly, working you through it with loving tenderness. Finally, he pulls away. You whine helplessly at the feeling of his fingers sliding out of you. He sucks them clean, then presses a few kisses to your shaking thighs before moving up your body to hover over you. His face is soaked from nose to chin, lips and beard glistening with your slick. He kisses you hotly, and the usual taste of him is completely drowned out by the taste of your own arousal. He runs a warm hand up your arm and rubs gently at your wrists.

“How are your hands?” he asks gently. “Still alright? Can you move them for me?”

It takes a long moment for your addled brain to process his question, but with some effort you manage to wiggle your fingers.

“F-fine,” you stutter weakly. “They’re fine.”

He pulls the fabric up slightly, inspecting the skin. You don’t know what he sees, but he seems to be satisfied with it because he nods once, then turns his attention back to your face. He kisses your cheeks with a gentleness that nearly makes you cry again, and wipes the remaining wetness from them with his thumbs.

“You’re so lovely,” he murmurs. “So beautiful. You’re doing so well. So good for me. My good girl. My sweet, wonderful girl. Taking everything I give you so perfectly. Letting me drink my fill of you. Making such pretty sounds for me while I taste you to my heart’s content. Falling apart so beautifully for me, over and over. Do you think you can take a bit more for me, my good girl? You can say no,” he says, seeing the hesitation in your eyes. “I would love to be inside you, but we can stop if it’s too much.”

You swallow hard, considering for a few seconds. Slowly, you nod.

“I can take it,” you rasp. “I can take you.”

The heat in his eyes causes your already shaky breath to catch.

“So good for me,” he whispers. “I don’t know what I could ever do to deserve you. I love you so much.”

He shifts, his hardened cock — gods you imagine it must be aching at this point — sliding through your soaking folds and catching at your entrance. You try to breathe steadily as he pushes forward, sliding into you without resistance. He moans as he buries himself in you to the hilt, nosing into the crook of your neck and breathing you in.

“You feel divine,” he praises against your skin. “Better than divine. You are perfection itself. I could stay like this for hours.”

He sighs contentedly, and doesn’t move. Your mind, sluggish as it is now, kicks up a gear. It has to be a turn of phrase. He can’t actually mean...

You feel him shift slightly. He props himself up with one arm, while the other slides between you. He presses his thumb against your lips and you let it in on instinct, sucking lightly on the tip of it. He grins.

“Such a good girl.”

He pulls his thumb out and brings the hand down, down, down your body. It slides briefly against your entrance where he’s stretching you open, and he groans. Then it slides up and starts rubbing softly, maddeningly over your clit.

“Gale?” You can’t manage more than a whisper.

“Shhh... Just a few more, my love,” he soothes. “I want to feel you come around me at least thrice before I’m done with you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You open your eyes, blinking a few times as you try to get your bearings. Gods, you must have actually blacked out for a moment. Gale is still above you, panting heavily, his face pressed against your shoulder. You whimper as you feel him twitch inside you, the feeling well and truly overwhelming at this point. He groans and pulls out of you as gently as he can. He presses a kiss to the mark he’d apparently sucked into your shoulder and turns to look at you, one hand coming up to brush a sweaty lock of hair from your forehead.

“Alright my love?”

You nod weakly.

“Are you sure?”

You nod again. “Y-yes. Good.”

“Good,” he breathes. “You are spectacular. Wonderful beyond words.”

He moves to untie your wrists. Once he does he rubs them gently, then down your arms, massaging the sore muscles.

“Do you need some water?”

You nod, more emphatically this time. He helps you sit up and takes a glass from the nightstand. He holds it to your lips, helping you to drink. Once you’ve had your fill, he reaches over for a soft cloth that was next to the glass. He moves to clean you, but you flinch when the cloth touches your thigh.

“Too much,” you manage.

“Ah. Of course. Apologies, my love” He puts the cloth away, instead muttering a quick prestidigitation, cleaning both you and the sheets with a wave of his hand. He looks as though he means to say something else, but you yawn, and he simply smiles fondly.

“Need some rest?”

“Gods, yes.”

He chuckles and helps you lay down, pulling you into a warm embrace. He rubs your back soothingly and nuzzles into your hair.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs. “My good, sweet girl. I love you so dearly.”

“Love you too,” you mumble, already halfway back to unconsciousness. You feel him smile against you and place a kiss to the top of your head.

“And I’m so grateful that you do. Now, get some sleep, my love.”

You sigh in agreement, and it takes no time at all for his steady breathing and comforting warmth to lull you into what just might be the deepest sleep you’ve ever had.

[littlejuicebox]

GINAAA MY GIRL!

Sending you a dadstarion prompt because you already know I LOVEEE your dadstarion content.

How did Tav find out she was pregnant with baby Gale? And how did Astarion react to the news?! Inquiring minds want to know.

To have and to hold.

Such a lovely prompt, my friend! Hope you like it!

Summary: Astarion turned mortal a few months ago, and this is his first-time experiencing illness of any kind. Unfortunately, as soon as he recovers, you start to show signs of sickness as well. Your condition is a bit different from his, though. (For more of this series check out the ‘Dadstarion’ section of my master list.)

Tags/Warnings: Dadstarion, domestic af, fluff, talk of illness, talk of vomiting, the mildest of angst with the mostest of comfort, pregnancy, etc.

A/N: I work in healthcare, not law, so I can’t guarantee the legalese is accurate lol.

Word count: 2.3K

-----

“Don’t come closer, darling, I’m disgusting.” Astarion groans from where you find him one morning, curled up on the bathroom floor.

It had been a few months since Gale of Waterdeep cast Wish, and from that moment until now the retired rogue had been a happy, healthy mortal. There were so many benefits to curing his vampirism that the elf never fully considered one of the major downsides… illness.

He’d never experienced a malady like this in his life. At least not in the one he could remember.

It’s horrible.

How had his little love or any of his friends endured this, more than once, in the past ten years?

Astarion is quite certain he contracted food poisoning from that questionable slab of salmon he ate at the Blushing Mermaid yesterday evening. He never did understand why you liked eating at that lowbrow tavern in the first place.

You crouch to examine your husband, pressing a soothing hand onto his forehead before running it down to cup his cheek.

“Astarion, my love, you have a fever.” You murmur, frowning with concern as you push sweaty curls from his face.

“Please make more obvious observations, dear,” Astarion gripes as he forces himself to sit up, still clutching his stomach. Gods, the vile churning in his gut is incessant.

He’s about to continue on with his quip, but the sudden urge to be sick forces the elf to shut up and scramble to the toilet. You hear the sounds of violent retching moments later.

“We are never going back to the Blushing Mermaid,” Astarion grumbles once the wave of illness subsides. His face is pressed against the toilet; all sense of decorum is gone. The rotten fish poisoning his insides won over any bits of pride he might have been clinging to.

You move to grab a wash rag, dampening it under the tap before kneeling back down by your husband.

“Poor thing,” You coo, folding the cloth in half before dabbing it against the back of Astarion’s neck, hoping to ease the fever.

The elf’s eyes flutter closed as he allows you to fawn over him for a moment. And then he groans and flicks his hand, palm faced downward, as if trying to shoo you away. His voice is hoarse when he says, “Just leave me here and go get ready for your meeting, darling. I’ll be fine.”

“In sickness and in health, remember?” You ask, running the cool cloth over Astarion’s face, causing him to sigh thankfully at the slight relief, “I’ll send word to the other Counsellors to inform them that I won’t be attending. You’ve never been ill before; I don’t want to leave you like this. Wyll can fill me in later.”

“Yes, ‘in sickness and in health’ and all that, darling, but those vows also included ‘until death do us part’ and I was an immortal vampire when we made them. So you were technically entering that verbal contract under false pretenses, which one could argue means it’s null and void. Go to the meeting, it’s—“

Astarion almost manages to finish his rambling legalese before more putrid liquid spews out of his mouth. When he’s finished vomiting, he whines again, any bit of stubborn resilience and feeble attempts at selflessness abandoned.

“On second thought, maybe you should stay here,” He says, his chest heaving with exertion as he clenches his eyes shut, “Please tell me you have a spell for this.”

“Unfortunately not, my love. I only have a spell for curses. Best I can do is half a bottle of Elixir of Health, some ginger-peppermint tea, and a bath.” You sigh, already crossing the bathroom on your way to the tub. You fiddle with the taps for a moment to start the bath and then begin to pour oils into the flowing water.

“Deal,” Your husband mutters, peeling off his sweat-soaked night shirt, “But none of that vile honey you got at the market here in town for my tea; I want the one Shadowheart and Lae’zel sent from Neverwinter.”

“Anything you say, Lord Ancunin.” You joke, rolling your eyes at your husband’s fussiness. He’d barely regained his sense of taste a few months ago and already favored upscale ingredients and meals, as if mortal food hadn’t been but ash in his mouth for two hundred years.

The elf glares at your insolence but doesn’t retort; he’s too busy trying to keep himself from vomiting again.

*

The following morning, Astarion wakes feeling much better. Practically brand new, in fact. It seems the potion and your strange flower child medicine must have done the trick. He sighs a breath of relief and then rolls to snuggle against you for a few more precious moments. He reaches his arms out and grasps at nothing but air.

The silver-haired elf immediately frowns and sits up. That’s exceptionally odd. You were not a morning person; you never had been in the ten years he’d known you. You always slept in longer than him, even in the wilds. On more than one occasion he’d had to lure you out of your nearly comatose slumber with the tempting smells of coffee and breakfast.

Astarion hears you gagging in the bathroom and goes to investigate. He soon finds you clinging to the toilet, practically mirroring how he looked the day prior.

“Oh no, little love, do you think you have food poisoning, too?” He questions, frowning slightly before kneeling down to press his hand against your forehead just like you’d done to him, “No fever, though.”

You whine, leaning into your husband’s hand before grumbling, “Damn the Blushing Mermaid straight to Stygia! Why do I even like that place, again?”

Astarion laughs, “I’ve been wondering the same thing for years, dear. I hope now you’ll finally reconsider. Do you want some tea and a bath?”

“Please,” You say, just before another wave of nausea hits you, forcing you to throw your head into the toilet and gag. Frustratingly, not much actually comes out despite the waves of sickness coursing through your body.

Gods, you wish you could simply vomit and feel relief.

Astarion begins to prepare the appropriate remedies, much like you’d done for him the day before. Thankfully, you seem to recover much faster than he did, and by midday you look and feel completely normal.

Good thing, too. You two were out of any elixirs that may have helped you had your ailment been as severe as Astarion's.

“Perhaps I’m just a better healer than you, darling.” The silver-haired elf teases as the two of you take afternoon tea in the sunroom.

“Perhaps I’m just stronger and more resilient than you, my love.” You retort, wrinkling your nose in jest at your husband.

He chuckles softly and then presses a kiss to your nose, “Agree to disagree.”

*

Astarion thinks the two of you are past this bit of bad luck, but when he wakes the following morning, he hears you retching once again.

When the elf finds you in the bathroom, appearing as almost an exact repeat of yesterday, though perhaps a bit worse, his brow furrows.

“Darling, I'm worried now. You look more ill than before. Perhaps we should take a trip to Jaheira? I can head to the apothecary for another Elixir of Health while she looks you over.” He murmurs gently, extending his hands to pull you to your feet.

You simply nod in agreement, too nauseated to do more than follow your husband’s lead as he slips you into a set of robes and ushers you into the carriage.

*

When Astarion returns to Jaheira’s after dashing out to the apothecary, he finds you sitting at the druid’s dining table. The two of you stop whatever hushed conversation you’d been having and turn to look at him in unison.

“Feeling any better, Tav?” He asks, coming to stand by your side before placing a worried hand upon your shoulder. You simply cover your hand with his and nod in response.

“Much better,” You say, flashing your husband a small smile. Something about your expression looks hazed, as if you’re stuck in a daydream. Poor thing, you're probably exhausted and experiencing brain fog.

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine with the teas and medicinals I’ve given you,” Jaheira assures, her eyes flickering between the two of you. She grins for the briefest moment before falling back into her typical, more serious demeanor.

Astarion swears he feels like something is off, but when he turns to give you a questioning look, you’re the picture of happiness as you sip from your tea cup, finishing it off.

Well, at least you’re doing what Jaheira has prescribed.

“What about the Elixir of Health I’ve just purchased?” Your husband asks, lifting the bag in his hand, “Will that help?”

“Oh, I recommend you keep it for something else. I don’t think Tav needs it for this,” The druid responds before standing, signaling it’s the end of the visit. She was always quite straight forward and lacking in certain genteel social graces, in Astarion’s opinion.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with the Harpers.”

You quickly bid your goodbyes and Astarion helps you back into the carriage, eager to get you back to bed so that you can sleep off the rest of this sickness.

*

Astarion notices you’re uncharacteristically quiet on the carriage ride home. He typically doesn’t mind when you’re in one of your pensive, stoic moods. But this illness of yours had him more anxious than usual and he had to know more about Jaheira’s examination results, if only to ease his own worries.

“Darling,” He starts, taking your hand in his. But you don’t seem to hear him; you’re still lost in your own little world.

“My love,” He says, this time a bit more urgently, squeezing your hand just enough to pull your attention to him, “What did Jaheira say, exactly? Did she mention how long this illness will last?”

“Oh, the nausea will probably go on for a few weeks,” You reply, a goofy, lopsided smile breaking across your face. You cannot stifle your grin at the little secret you know you’ll be unable to keep for more than a few moments longer.

“Weeks?” Astarion questions, his voice pitching up with worry and brows stitching together in concern.

Why in the hells are you smiling? What druid bullshit was in the tea Jaheira gave you?

He folds his arms across his chest, not at all pleased by the lack of seriousness you seem to display. The idea of you being sick for weeks makes his heart hurt and his stomach churn as if he’s still sick. He could never stand to see you uncomfortable.

“Tav, are you drugged? This is serious. I fail to see what there is to be smiling about right now. You’re going to be nauseous for weeks and you can’t use an Elixir of Health? Are you absolutely sure Jaheira even knows what she’s—“

“I’m pregnant, Astarion,” You interrupt, and you cannot help but to laugh at your husband as his mouth hangs open mid-sentence, frozen in shock.

He blinks for a moment or two, otherwise completely still as his brain rushes to process the new information.

When the elf finally regains his composure and finds his ability to speak, he shoots out a flustered, rambled, “Darling, I— I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I’m not certain I heard you correctly. The road is quite bumpy and the wheels of the carriage are loud— I think they need oil— and the horses—“

You laugh and firmly grasp your husband’s hand, wholly capturing his attention before murmuring, “You ridiculous elf. You heard me the first time. I’m pregnant, Astarion.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen a bigger grin cross your husband’s face.

“Tav, darling, I— gods, just come here to me.”

Astarion’s lips crash into yours, and he’s smiling into the kiss as he threads a hand through your hair, intent on pressing you closer into him. A tiny, delighted hum escapes your husband as he uses the kiss to express all the feelings he cannot yet put into words.

When he finally pulls away, he cups your face with his hands and peppers a few more kisses upon your lips.

“Is this your way of telling me you’re happy about this, Astarion?” You ask, grinning at your husband as he gazes upon you with the most besotted eyes you’ve ever seen.

“Thrilled, my love,” He whispers, before pressing forward to kiss you again, trying to convey the depth of his excitement with his affections. He doesn’t let go of you the rest of the way home, almost desperate to cover you in worshipful kisses, each one a little vow of love to you.

You notice he's unusually quiet, but then, he’s far too busy smiling and smooching to do much talking.

*

Later that evening, you move to get out of bed and head toward the bedchamber door.

“Ah, ah, ah. Where do you think you’re going, little love?” Astarion calls, already tossing his book aside to follow after you, “What do you need? Let me bring it to you.”

“I just wanted a cup of water, Astarion. I can go get—“ You start, but he quickly presses a kiss to your lips, effectively quieting you.

“Hush, my love. You’re still nauseated and you’re carrying very precious cargo.” He gently chastises as he turns you by your shoulders and steers you back toward the bed.

“You’re being dramatic,” You grumble, sitting back down in the bed and wrinkling your nose at your husband.

“Perhaps,” He agrees, grinning down at you as he gently folds the blankets back around your legs, “But you knew exactly the type of theatrics you signed up for when you married me, darling. 'To have and to hold, to love and to cherish' and all that, hm?”

And in that moment, Astarion was certain he’d never love and cherish anything more than you.

Nine months later, the little silver-haired newborn he held in his arms would prove him wrong.

[curtsbigspoon]

thoughts on how buck and bucky would end up kissing and/or hooking up for the first time? what would lead up to it, who would make the first move etc <3

I feel like it would have to be either after a rough mission, or a successful one.

First one could be that the grief and loss has worn everyone down, John and Gale are trying to understand their place in it all, to cope with the fact it could be one of them next. 

Gale is more reserved about his anxiety, doesn’t show it publicly, has to be a leader for everyone. John is more likely to get physically antsy, tries to find the positives in it all because he’s still got Gale. 

It feeds off on everyone, able to find hope despite their fears.

Gale’s never been more relieved at John’s glass half full type of energy, feeling less burdened by the weight of pressure.

But John confronts him one night, he’s a little more drunk than he should be, but it’s the only way to find his strength.

He crowds Gale against a wall, his lips pulled tight, pressing his forehead to their shoulder, bottom lip jutted out and trembling. 

Gale feels it then, what he’s been hiding, brings his hand to John’s shoulder and tries to rub him there reassuringly.

John voices his fears, lifts his head, Gale sees how wet they’ve grown. 

“It’s gonna be alright,” Gale murmurs, and he tries to smile, ducking his head slightly. “We’re gonna be alright.”

John swallows, feels a lot of things in the moment, isn’t sure what any of them are.

Not until he brings his hand up, cupping it again Gale’s cheek, surging forward to press their lips together in something that’s too messy, teeth clacking against one another, almost bumping noses.

But Gale doesn’t run from it, just stands there shocked, feels his eyes widen before John pulls away from him. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers, but there’s no menace to his tone, no real rejection to back up his words.

John catches it, and he steps back, nodding his head. 

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have… Too bad I’m about to do it again anyways.”

Right well I should probably say now it wasn’t supposed to turn into that but, I’d feel bad ridding y’all of the extra content so I’ll let it stay.

The other option is much more cheerier!

They’re probably together in the hall, music’s blasting, people are dancing, John and Gale are at each other’s sides as always.

John’s especially taken by the thrill of it all, can’t stop smiling, finding ways to chime in with singing, or patting his comrades on the back whenever they walk back.

Gale’s just smiling, sometimes he grins a little more with teeth, feels the world sweep away from him. 

It might just be one night, but they’re making it his, they’re taking the victory and using it as means to inspire how successful the future could be. 

After all their hard work they deserve it.

John probably saunters back, hooks his arm around Gale, leans real close. 

“Come with me?”

“You need an escort now?”

“I might, you don’t want me wandering off on my own tonight, do you?”

Even though he tries to hold meaning to the theat, the smile spilling over his cheeks shows he’s just trying to get his way.

Gale gives into him anyways, follows him outside, lets him smoke his cigar and leans his head back against the wall to take in the stars.

The world feels at peace for a little while, no fights or fires above, just laughter and joy and beer.

John catches his gaze, follows it with a grin, nudges his arm into him.

“Don’t get too lost in the clouds, Gale. I need you down here with me.”

“I’m always down here with you.”

John laughs at that, thinks it’s the funniest, sighs and leans his head back to join Gale’s observations.

“I don’t plan on letting you go anywhere anytime soon, you can count on that.”

Gale laughs too, something easy and sweet.

John tilts his head towards the blond, leans close to murmur something, and Gale turns in time to catch their lips almost touching.

It stops them both, John’s lips parted and ready to usher words, Gale’s closed and ready to listen - but they split apart when they notice how close John is.

“I don’t plan on going anywhere,” Gale whispers, thinks it’ll spark them both back to normalcy. 

It doesn’t, if anything it halts John further in his tracks, and then his eyes dip.

Gale doesn’t have time to warn him not to be too hasty, to tell him he should move in case someone comes out and sees them so close. 

John’s lips on his force him into silence, everything else falls away, and his cheeks warm under the attention before he gently prods John back.

“Someone could have seen,” he warns, and something about it makes John smile.

Gale’s slightly appalled at his lack of consideration or care regarding the matter until John continues.

“Next time I’ll be more careful.”

Fuck. I ended up yapping again. Okay so I could honestly see it going different ways but I wound up writing two very specific scenarios, sorry bout that one. If you want different like perspectives in the future lemme know.

And, uh, hope you enjoyed??

[wisteriashouse]

huddling.

pairing: rengoku kyoujurou x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1482

a/n: found an old incomplete draft and completed it instead of writing something new from scratch because i am ✨ lazy ✨ smh

It’s absolutely freezing.

“I do not think that we’ll be able to make it back to a Wisteria House tonight!” Kyoujurou calls over his shoulder, his booming voice somehow dampened by the roar of the winter gale. Pulling your haori tighter around yourself in a poor attempt to shield yourself from the freezing winds, you do your best to stop your teeth from chattering before calling out a reply to the man in front of you.

“What do we do, then?”

There’s the crunch of Kyoujurou’s zori sandals on the snow as he trudges back to you, his bright hair tossed about relentlessly by the winter storm. Contrary to you, he appears completely unaffected by the cold, a vigorous smile on his face even as the winds batter the two of you. Perhaps it has something to do with him being the Flame Pillar, you think as you try your best not to shiver. 

Kyoujurou, of course, notices.

“Are you cold?” He asks, brow furrowed as he looks you over - a cursory glance of concern that has no right making your heart skip a beat as it does. Cheeks heating slightly, you turn away so that he can notice and shake your head, fisting your hands to stop the shivering. It wouldn’t do to have you embarrassing yourself in front of a Pillar.

“No, I’m alright.” 

You’re proud of the fact that your teeth only chatters once.

Kyoujurou frowns slightly, and before you can ask him what the matter is, he’s already slipping the haori from his shoulders and stepping forward. Shocked at his offering, you raise your hands to stop him in his tracks, shaking your head desperately. “No, no, I’m really alright, Kyoujurou-san-” 

The Flame Pillar pays no heed to your words, humming lightly as he sets the fabric of his haori around your shoulders, smoothing it out with his hands so that it wraps snugly around you. To your surprise, the second the haori settles around your form, you feel yourself enveloped in warmth - Kyoujurou’s gentle warmth woven into every fibre and stitch seeping into your skin.

“Kyoujurou-san, I really...” your words trail off, caught between slight guilt at taking his outer coat in this cold and the desire to continue basking in his warmth. Already, the added layer of protection against the winds make you want to cry with gratefulness. Kyoujurou only laughs at your hesitance, reaching out to sweep some snow off the top of your head. 

“It’s no problem! As you are my junior, I should be looking out for you!” His words, simple as they are, are enough to make your heart trip in your chest. He smiles at you once more before his eyes turn razor sharp again, glancing over the expanse of snow behind you before making a quick decision. “We’ll find a cave somewhere and get out of this cold. It wouldn’t do to keep wandering about in the middle of a snowstorm and the mountains are treacherous at night.”

He takes a single step forward, pauses, and glances back at you briefly. You blink at him, a little confused at the way he’s staring at you, before he’s suddenly reaching out to take your hand in his.

“Come on!” Kyoujurou says brightly, even as you gape at him. “I would hate for you to get lost in the snow! This way, I’ll know that you’re always behind me!”

With a gentle tug of his hand, he leads you through the snowstorm, shielding you from the biting winds with his own body. His hand is wonderfully warm, long, strong fingers folding over yours and holding you close behind him. Sure that you’re out of his sight, you finally allow yourself to smile - happiness seeping through the cracks of the professional facade you try to keep up around your senior.

The two of you find a small cave embedded in the side of the mountains after a few minutes of searching. Ducking into the small crevice splitting the rock face, you let out a sigh of relief to finally be out of the wind, drawing Kyoujurou’s haori tighter around yourself. 

Deep into the cave, where you can no longer hear the howling of the wind outside, Kyoujurou spots the remains of an old campfire - apparently, both of you aren’t the first ones to take refuge here from the elements. While you pick out the still salvageable twigs to burn later on, Kyoujurou works on starting the fire with a small flint and steel. A few minutes later, the darkness of the cave seems to fade ever so slightly, and you turn around to see your mentor holding up a patch of burning kindling that illuminates his triumphant smile.

“We’ll have to wait out the storm here,” Kyoujurou tells you after he gets the fire going, sitting next to you. Your backs against the wall, both of you watch the little fire you have in front of you crackle merrily, orange gold flames so much like his hair near hypnotising you with the way they dance. You nod, tuck your feet close to you and blow on your hands, because even with Kyoujurou’s cloak, your extremities still feel they might freeze at any moment. If that’s how cold you feel, you wonder how Kyoujurou hasn’t turned into a walking block of ice.

“Kyoujurou-san,” you begin to say, concerned, and his head turns around immediately to look at you with a bright smile. Golden light flicker across half of his face, the other half cast into shadow. Remarkably handsome, you want to say, but instead you ask, “Are you sure you aren’t cold? I mean, I have your haori and I’m still freezing…”

His mouth twitches into a slight smile at your question, but then suddenly he laughs, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “Well, when you put it that way, yes, I am very cold right now. Perhaps I should talk to Oyakata-sama about winter uniforms during the next Pillar meeting!” He laughs again at the thought, and his eyes soften. “But I am quite alright. It is more important to me that you will not freeze. I am uncomfortable, but I have been through worse. Do not worry about me!”

That doesn’t sound very good. Chewing on your bottom lip, you glance down at the haori covering you before turning back to the man sitting next to you. “Then, Kyoujurou-san, how about we share?”

He stares at you, a befuddled expression on his face that constitutes of a boyish raise of the eyebrows and a slight scrunch of his nose as he fights back a sneeze. “Share? How?”

“Well,” you hold up his haori in front of you to gauge how much it will cover. And… that was a silly suggestion to make, because you have vastly overestimated the size of his haori, but you also don’t want to go back on your word about sharing it. “Like this…”

Sidling up next to him, you try to press yourself as close as possible to his side without actually touching him, before you toss the haori over the two of you. It ends up failing to cover either of you completely, but at least now you feel less bad about having it all to yourself. “I mean, it’s important to me that you don’t freeze either, Kyoujurou-san.”

Kyoujurou is quiet for a second, before he smiles again, more slowly this time - it’s not bright as the sun, like his usual laughter and grins are, but more gentle and muted, like the small fire in front of you. “That’s very nice to hear,” he says. For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to look at him - instead, you keep your eyes firmly focused on the flames in front of you, watching them as sparks swirl into the air. 

While they are very pretty, they also make you sleepy in a record amount of time. In almost no time at all, you’re fighting to keep down a yawn, your eyelids starting to droop. When your head nearly falls forward, a gentle hand catches you by the chin and guides your head to rest on a strong shoulder.

You try your best to stay awake, you really do, but Kyoujurou hums lightly, his hand settling lightly on your head. “Just go to sleep,” your mentor says gently as you struggle to keep your eyes open. You’re practically leaning against him at this point, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “I’ll take the first watch, so you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

“Mmm, wake me up when you want to change over...” you barely manage to make out before your eyes slip shut. You vaguely remember something gentle touching your forehead, but you cannot remember what it was in the least. 

All you know is that you slept warmly that night, and that’s enough for you.

[athenagc94]

My Time at Sandrock Fic Time

You saw that right. It’s time to start sharing this fake dating trope fic. I’ll be posting more, but let’s start with the first chapter shall we :)

I will also be posting on AO3 here

Beginning (You are Here) | Next

Lottie,

As of yesterday, six months have passed since you abandoned me here in Highwind to go on some grand adventure in the desert. Not that I’ve been counting or anything (I’ve totally been counting). I miss the good old days where you, Jules and I slummed it in the same apartment while you two tried to fix the city one commission at a time. 

And I wrote all about your great success in the Highwind Harold, of course!

Well, I guess I don’t miss having to share a room with you. And I definitely don’t miss the fact that you don’t know how to clean a dish to save your life, but I do miss seeing your smiling face every day.

How is Sandrock treating you? Does all that sand grow on you eventually? What about the heat? I still can’t believe you moved out there in the middle of summer! Is winter any better? Have you been wearing that bandana I sent you? You better be! Just because you’re a hardened builder in the middle of the desert now, doesn’t mean you can’t look cute while trekking through the sands.

One of my coworkers told me Sandrockers boil their own piss to stay hydrated. Please tell me you aren’t drinking your own piss. If you are, I’ll be on the first train out there to come save you.

In fact, why don’t you just come back here? I can introduce you to this cutie I met at the Gust n’ Gale the other day. Jules and I agree she would be PERFECT for you. She might even be enough to entice you to stay. You must have pretty slim picking out there in the middle of nowhere.

Write back soon!

Nia

P.S. I slipped a wrapper from your favorite burger stall in with this letter. Smell the residual grease and tell me you don’t miss it!!

The muscle in Charlotte’s jaw tightened. True to her word, Nia tucked a foil wrapper in with her note. A sizable grease stain bled into the back half of the letter and envelope. She raised it to her nose and took a tentative sniff. She could still smell the subtle hint of curry powder they used on their patties. 

Nia didn’t even like curry.

Did she just waste a perfectly good burger to make a point?

She balled the wrapper in her fist and shoved it in her pocket. Nia had her best interest in mind, she always had, but Charlotte could live without the guilt trip every time she decided to write. Her clinginess was, in some small part, the reason she decided to leave Highwind in the first place. She needed to forge her own path, away from her and Julien.

Arvio watched her from the opposite side of the booth as she pulled a fresh pad of paper from her bag, sipping his drink. Mi-an, who was in the middle of an animated retelling of her day, flung out her arms and clipped him in the elbow. Yakmel milk dribbled down his chin and soaked the front of his shirt.

Mi-an gasped and grappled to clean up the mess with her napkins. “I’m so sorry! You know I flail when I’m excited.” She flushed pink. “Hazard of sitting next to me, I guess, heh.”

He chuckled and wiped his mouth. “No worries. There is no use crying over spilled milk.” He shot with a pair of finger guns. “Do you get my funny joke? Because it is yakmel milk and it has spilled?”

Everyone at the table groaned.

“Your jokes have gotten worse,” Charlotte noted as she pulled a spare bandana from her bag and handed it to him. “I hate it.”

He grinned fiendishly. “It is part of my charm, no?”

“No,” Elsie deadpanned, “Y’all’re as charmin’ as a manure pile in a yakmel pen.”

Arvio pouted. “Your words cut deep. I was only trying to make the night more merry with jokes.” He jerked his chin toward Charlotte as she uncapped her pen. “Our friend Lottie here is so bored with us that she has decided letters are more entertaining than a night on the town with friends.”

He motioned to the surrounding saloon which bustled with life and laughter as people dug into their hot meals. Thin wisps of steam curled off her drink, smelling vaguely of spiced sand dates—a brief respite from the wintry chill outside. She’d seen her fair share of winters being from Highwind, but nothing prepared her for winter in the desert. The vast expanse of sand left nothing to lock in the heat.

It didn’t help that her workshop had a terrible draft and, try as she might, she’d yet to find the source. So, she found solace with the rest of town at the Blue Moon Saloon.

When she failed to respond, Arvio tried again, “Owen is about to start.”

She shrugged. “I can multitask.”

“Y’all say that now.” Elsie kicked her feet up onto the table. Charlotte wrinkled her nose and shooed them off, not wanting her manure caked boots anywhere near her fried rice. “Ugh,” Elsie scoffed, “Y’all’ll drop everything when he starts. Even pa knows to stop his jabberin’ when Owen takes the stage.”

Mi-an sighed and cradled her cheeks in her palms. “He has such a way with words.”

“And he is easy on the eyes,” Arvio added, “though he is too humble to realize that people think that.”

Mi-an hummed her agreement. “He is handsome, isn’t he?”

“He’s not that…” Elsie gritted her teeth. “I mean, if you like the tall, dark and handsome folk, I guess he’s fine.”

Mi-an didn’t seem to hear her as she gazed longingly in the direction of the kitchen where Owen helped Grace with the dinner rush. They caught a few glimpses of him earlier when he ducked out to drop off food, including their own. Mi-an oogled him the whole time.

If he didn’t notice, Charlotte would have been shocked.

Elsie puffed out her cheeks and added, “I know plenty of words too. He just knows how to string them together, all pretty-like.”

Arvio and Charlotte shared a knowing look as they sipped their drinks. Elsie’s crush on Mi-an had gone from bad to downright painful in the last few weeks, but Mi-an stayed blissfully unaware. Bless her heart. Elsie looked like she wanted to rip her hair out most days and for that Charlotte could sympathize. She knew all too well how painful unrequited love felt.

It ate away at your sanity until there was nothing left. When that happened you had two choices—fess up and have your heart broken or run off to become the newest builder in a dying town in the middle of the desert like a fucking coward.

One could only guess which she settled on…

She only hoped Elsie was braver than her when she finally hit her breaking point.

But until then, they were forced to watch Elsie flounder. “Alls I’m sayin’ is he’s not that great. I mean, sure, he’s nice and strong and—”

“Do not forget incredibly handsome.”

Elsie cut him with a glare that he met with a simpering grin. “Alls I’m sayin’ is I think you can do better.”

As if willed into existence by their conversation, Owen pushed through the doors with several plates balanced in his arms. Mi-an perked up in her seat as Elsie slumped back with a defeated sigh. Poor girl.

“Stop staring.” Charlotte nudged her under the table with the toe of her boot. “He’ll notice and then he’ll think you’re a creep.”

“Maybe I want him to notice.”

Elsie crossed her arms and grumbled, “He ain’t that special.”

“But have you gazed into those baby blues?” Arvio fluttered his lashes. “They are brighter than the waters of the Western—hey.” He narrowly dodged the dinner roll Elsie chucked at his head. “Come on! It was a joke.”

“Well, you ain’t funny.”

“Funnier than—ah.” The roll hit him right between the eyes. “Alright, I’m sorry, I’m—”

Charlotte caught the third roll Elsie launched at him from midair. “That’s enough of that,” she said as she peered between them sternly, “Don’t forget we’re in public.”

Arvio rubbed the space between his eyes. “What did I do?”

Elsie made an obscene gesture. “He started it.”

She shushed them as Owen neared their table to drop off meals to the group sitting at the booth behind them. She settled back in her seat and bit a chunk out of her roll. There was a dash of curry and it reminded her briefly of home. The other three picked at their meals like they hadn’t just been discussing how hot Owen was, though Mi-an snuck a glance at his backside as he passed.

Charlotte shook her head. Shameless.

With his hands empty, and the last of the orders filled, Owen headed toward the shoddily crafted stage at the front of the room. One of the colored lights strung on the back wall flickered. The curtained behind it had faded to a dull blue-gray and were in desperate need of a wash, or a burning—either way. She could tell it had once been the color of sapphires, and that seemed like a perfect metaphor for this town—a jewel in desperate need of a polish.

“Good to see you folks braved the cold this evenin’ to come out and hear my story.” He wiped his hands on the towel thrown over his shoulder. “I have a special treat for all y’all who came out. It’s an oldie, but goodie that’ll have you on the edge of your seats.”

A hush settled over the dining room. The tangible shift in the air had her leaning forward in her seat. Elsie shot her a not-so-subtle smirk from under the brim of her hat. A look that said, I told ya so. Charlotte ignored her. It seemed rude not to pay attention for a little while.

Owen cleared his throat and began, “Picture this for me: A colorfully painted caravan ambling through the shifting sands of the Eufaula Desert…”

Charlotte listened to his tale for a while, admittedly captivated by the vivid picture he made with words alone. Ruby-red sands bathed in a hazy orange glow. A sweltering heat that left your clothes painted on like a second skin. The near-constant creak of uneven wheells as they rolled through the dunes. It felt like she was actually there, riding along with Martle.

As she listened, her attention drifted back to the pad of paper. Her own words twined in tandem with his:

Nia,

Wow! Six months already? I guess time flies when you’re constantly on the go. Sandrock contine to provide its own unique set of challenges.

That was a kind of putting it. She had been a builder for close to a decade now, but Sandrock had been quite the culture shock. Charlotte never imagined wood, of all things, would be a commodity—the thing that literally grew on trees. Or that she would have to ration water so meticulously to ensure her machines didn’t overheat. Or how often she would have to clean her machines with all the sand working its way into the gears.

After her first sandstorm took out half the town, Charlotte had to take a long, hard look at her future in Sandrock. It may have been a rash decision to come out here. She pursed her lips. It was definitely a rash decision, but she chose to stay in the end, if only because she failed to find any other openings for builders across the Free Cities.

You’ll be relieved to hear that we don’t drink our piss out here. They have a very meticulous water gathering and distribution system that helps the town function, so there’s no need to sound the alarm.

Winter is much better. Colder than I was expecting if I’m being completely honest…

I hope you and Julien are well. I miss you both dearly. How is the Harold treating you? Have they promoted you to head reporter yet? They better. You’re the finest writer in the Free Cities. Has Julien finally gotten his workshop to an S rating or has my departure set him back a few years? (Please don’t tell him I said that. It was a joke)

As I said so blatantly in my last letter, stop trying to set me up with someone. It won’t make me come back to the city. I…

The fluid motion of her pen stilled. She caught herself almost writing I only ever wanted Julien. She could never admit that to her, not when Nia loved him long before Charlotte realized her feelings for him. And certainly not when Julien loved her right back.

She first noticed when the pair chatted over the breakfast table while Charlotte tinkered away in the corner. She thought she might have imagined the sparkle in his eye, but it became more apparent as time went on. His gaze would pass over Charlotte entirely, but lingered on Nia for much longer than seemed appropriate.

It took her too long to realize the dark feeling swelling in her gut was jealousy—and for her best friend.

Nia had always been more lovely, more certain, more sincere…just more. It made sense when Julien asked her out several months ago, but for Charlotte that was her breaking point. She couldn’t sit on the sidelines at they found their happiness—not without ruining something for the people she cared about.

Time would heal all wounds.

Time…and distance.

Charlotte took the first building job she stumbled across and was gone by the end of the week. At the time, Sandrock didn’t seem far enough, but Nia had been trying ever since to get her to come back to the city. It started with mentions of her family and how much they missed her. When that didn’t work, she taunted her with used food wrapped from her favorite food stalls. Now, she wanted to find a love connection that might lure her back like a stray dog with a bone.

She loved Nia, but damn, she could only take so much.

If she kept at it, the truth might burst out of her and ruin everything. Nothing would deter her unless she… 

Charlotte inhaled sharply.

Unless she already had someone.

I actually did find someone here in Sandrock.

She tapped the tip of her pen against her lower lip. Nia wouldn’t be satisfied with that. She would want details—details Charlotte didn’t have—but she could make them up. She scanned the faces around her. Who would be a perfect match for her?

Arvio caught her eye and winked. She’d dealt with enough of his bullshit that it failed to rouse anything within her.

He had a handsome face and natural charm, but he was too young for her. Too young, too flirtatious, too, well, everything really. She would never convince Nia that she fell in love with a boy with roguish charm.

She looked to Mi-an and Elsie, dismissing them for the same reasons. Too young, too bold, too loud. Charlotte never thought she would have to worry about someone being too young, but she was quickly approaching thirty and the idea of dating someone who just turned eighteen (even if it was just to convince Nia) made her skin crawl.

How she ended up adopting the youngest in Sandrock was beyond her, but it happened all the same. She figured if not her, then who else? Those three liked to get into enough trouble on their own and they needed someone to wrangle them back in line.

“...the caravans raced through the dunes, rattling the teeth in poor Martle’s skull…”

Owen sat on the edge of the stage, fists gripped tight to mimic holding the reins of a caravan. He bounced in his seat as if he were truly there, racing through the dunes with Martle. “The caravan took a sharp left, then a right and sent her flying.” He threw himself across the stage, the rotted wood whining under his weight.

A few people chuckled as he shoved himself up, smoothing his wild hair as he did. Charlotte caught herself laughing along, her pen already moving across the page:

He has a way with words. His stories captivate anyone who listens (and they’re often listening when he performs at the Blue Moon Saloon on Saturday nights). He’s tall with broad shoulders, but he has the kindest eyes. They crinkle when he smiles and it makes you want to smile too.

Charlotte reread what she wrote. Would that vague description be enough to satisfy her? Or did she need to take it a step further? Nia would want to know everything about this mystery man, especially since Charlotte hadn’t shown much interest in anyone since their teens.

But Nia would get suspicious if she gushed too much. Charlotte rarely gushed about anything—unless it involved food. She always had good things to say about food.

He knows his way around the kitchen too. His fried rice is to die for. Like, seriously, it tastes just like the stuff we would buy from the cart outside our apartment.

At least she wasn’t lying. Charlotte spent most nights squandering her meager savings at the saloon because her kitchenette looked like it hadn’t been touched in over a decade. Mason didn’t strike her as the sort who cooked for himself. Because she spent so much time there, Owen did everything in his power to make her feel at home which included adding a few Highwind specialities to his menu.

But that was Owen for you, he wanted everyone to find their place and feel like they belonged. As far as fake partners went, he would be the most believable for someone like her.

I think you would like him. You’ll have to visit sometime. He can make you his rendition of the fried rice and you can decide for yourself.

Give Julien my love and write back soon. I miss you.

Hugs & kisses,

Lottie

She capped her pen and set it down like a warrior laying down their arms. Hopefully, this would be enough to sway Nia.

“...and that’s where we’ll leave it for tonight.” Charlotte turned her attention back to the stage as Owen bowed his head. The boisterousness of his performance melted away and he looked almost sheepish as he continued, “Thanks for turnin’ out everybody. I’ll see y’all next week.” She applauded along with everyone, only slightly disappointed that she missed the ending of his story.

People ambushed Owen the moment he hopped off the stage and gushed over his performance. Mi-an tried to do the same, but Elsie cut her off and insisted they head to the arcade instead. It didn’t take much to convince her and Mi-an half-dragged Elsie out of the saloon to catch a few games before the arcade closed.

Arvio left shortly thereafter with little more than a wink and a promise to share his latest marketing scheme with her in the morning. He mentioned something about a poster bearing his face and she hoped he was kidding. Knowing Arvio, he wasn’t and that meant she had to figure something out.

Now, only Charlotte remained at their booth, not that she minded a quiet walk back to her workshop. She needed to drop her letter off at the station anyway. With any luck, it would arrive by the end of the week.

The dining room emptied quickly as she cleaned up her stuff. With only a few stragglers milling about, Owen started to clear the plates from the empty tables. She assumed Grace was still cleaning in the back, but Owen might have sent her home for the night. It seemed like the kind of thing he’d do.

Charlotte threw her back over her shoulder and drifted over to him. “That was another great performance.”

A kind smile puckered the skin around his eyes. “Hiya Lottie, I didn’t think you’d be comin’ out tonight. I heard Yan had you on some big commission.”

“I always find time to come out and see you perform.” Without waiting to be asked, and mostly because she knew he was too polite to do so, she gathered a few plates. He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off before he had the chance. “Elsie would have had a fit if I chose to work instead.”

“At least I can count on Elsie to help me fill the saloon,” he chuckles as he motioned for her to follow, “How’d you like the performance.”

“Not your usual Old World stories, but you seemed really into it.”

“Ah, yeah, this is one of my favorites. I always begged my pa to tell it as a kid. The folks here have probably heard it a million times already, but they keep comin’ back for some reason, so I keep tellin’ it. It must be a favorite of theirs too.”

Charlotte mused, “You sure that’s the only reason people are coming to see you?”

He shot a curious look over his shoulder. “Why else would they come out? I mean, aside from the food that is.”

She shook her head. Right. He was too humble to realize he was the town’s golden boy—handsome, kind and capable. “I definitely come out for the food.” They shared a laugh. “But it was a lovely story. I can’t wait for next week.”

“Oh yeah, that’ll be a doozy of a tale.”

That caught her attention. “You’ve already decided what you’re telling?”

“Of course, I can’t just make them up on the fly.” He pushed through the door that led into the kitchen and held it open for her. “But don’t even try to guess. I’m a steel box when it comes to secrets and I like to have the element of surprise.”

“I wouldn’t dream of ruining the surprise for myself.”

The subtle scent of oregano wafted off him as she brushed past. It was quite pleasant. Comforting, even. The kitchen light had been dimmed, confirming what she already guessed. Grace had left for the night and Owen planned to clean up on his own. “You’re going to handle all these dishes by yourself?”

He shrugged. “I normally do on performance nights. Grace works hard during the dinner rush. What kind of boss would I be if I made her stay to clean up too?”

She set her dishes in the empty sink. “Do you want a hand? I’ve been told I don’t know how to clean a dish to save my life, but I’m willing to give it my best shot.”

Owen chuckled. “I don’t think anyone likes dishes, even me. In fact, you’d be appalled to see the state of my kitchen. But I can handle these just fine, though I appreciate the offer. You already do so much for us out here. You don’t need to be doin’ my job too.”

Her expression softened. His golden boy reputation was well-earned at the very least. If he shined any brighter, she might start seeing stars on the edge of her vision. “Well, if that’s the case, I won’t distract you.” She threw a wave over her shoulder as she headed back toward the dining room. “Don’t work too hard now.”

“Same goes to you, Lottie. I’ll see you ‘round.”

As the door swung shut behind her, she pulled her finished letter from her bag. If she hurried, she could reach Jensen before he closed the station’s doors for the night. And if she was extra lucky, Nia would give up on this matchmaking scheme of hers. In a few weeks, she could write back and tell her things didn’t pan out between her and this mystery man.

No hard feelings. No real risk—just the way she preferred things.

What could possibly go wrong?

[everlarkficexchange]

Full Circle

Written by: @emilia206

Prompt 26: Mockingjay canon divergent - Prim was never killed. Gale and Katniss try to get back to how they were before the war, but he realises that he’s already lost Katniss’ heart to Peeta, heart, mind, and soul. Any POV. Submitted by anonymous.

Summary: The prompt is pretty self explanatory, and I did my best to stick to it, however I was not prepared to completely write Gale out of Katniss’ life. Sorry? This is from Katniss’ POV.

Rating: Teen and up audiences.

Word count: 12,567

Thank you to my wonderful beta @melting-starlight. She’s more active on ao3 though, where she’s Starlight_Wren.

Breathe in. Breathe out. That’s all I’m doing. And for once, it’s enough. It’s enough if I just stand in the midst of lush greenery surrounded by the flutterings and scuffles of animals in springtime, just breathing and listening. My bow hangs limp in my hand and in the other I idly twirl an arrow. I’ll make my shot, eventually. When I feel the time is right, I’ll open my eyes again, to a world that’s coming to life once more, and I’ll aim and shoot. Dinner served. Not yet though, the time is not right.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Over and over again. It feels good to be out in the sun, to have it warm my winter chilled body. Perhaps it shall thaw out my heart too, but that can’t happen. Not yet, the time is not right. As the day warms up and begins to start in earnest, the animals become more loud in their search for food, shelter, and perhaps even a mate. They ignore me, standing as still as I am, not making a sound. I even briefly feel the tip of a wing swoop so low overhead it ruffles my hair. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. It’s almost time. Time to open my eyes and find my mark. I have to be quick about it, but these animals have become idle with their hiding skills in the time I’ve been away. No longer looking out for traps and flying arrows. I’ll use it to my advantage. Somewhere in the distance, a group of birds start up a melody. Conversing in short little tweets and chirps. Almost - I twirl my arrow once more in my fingers - time. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. My eyes snap open, letting the bright sunlight shine into them. I squint momentarily before I set my eye on my first mark. A wide-eyed rabbit, that stares at me from behind a protruding tree root. It doesn’t even try to run, it just stares right at me, until I lodge an arrow into its eye. A still comes over the clearing, creatures waiting with bated breath for the next arrow to fly. It doesn���t take me long, two squirrels, oblivious to the still around them, squabbling over an acorn. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. I bag tonight’s dinner, clean off my arrows, and am on my way. I’m not even ten metres away from the clearing when it comes back to life. Stupid things. I don’t know why, but it peeves me. Gale and I only stopped hunting regularly in these woods a little over six months ago, and already the animals have forgotten our presence. It’s ironic that with one tyrannical leaders fall, so did mine and Gale’s rule over these woods. Dr. Aurelius tells me that that’s OK, with a chapter closing within my life, another can begin. Then again, of course Dr. Aurelius can say these things, he’s not the one who actually has to let the chapter close. I don’t want it to - part of me still longs for days spent foraging and hunting in the woods, my partner by my side - but I know it has to.  

Breathe in. Breathe out. I’ve made it to the fence. Here comes the tricky part; making it back to the Village without letting myself slide into a mental vicious circle of passing the blame. Don’t look. Even as my rationale tells me not to, it’s impossible not to stare at the charred remains of my people being tipped into a gaping black pit that used to be the Meadow. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. No need to cry. My tears won’t help them now. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t cry. As soon as I think it, though, the tears burn at the back of my eyes, and my nose stings and flares. I move my feet faster up the hill. No point in hanging about. The gate to Victors Village looms up in the distance, towering above the carnage of my fallen District. It stands tall and proud, and I subconsciously shrink before it, though the wrought iron lettering looks rusted and dilapidated. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. I stand among the overgrowing gardens and sunken houses. Families are living in them now, and the entirety of the Village hums with life, all but Haymitch’s, Peeta’s and my own. In Haymitch’s resides only the old drunk with a sea of liquor bottles to wade through on the floor. Peeta’s house waits cold and unlived in, standing by until his return. In my own stands nothing but a few boxes waiting to be shipped off to District 4, where we will be greeted by my mother and Prim. 

Breathe in. Brea - a tremendous crash comes from within Haymitch’s house. I’m standing at my own front door, hand resting on the handle when another crash comes from his house. I might not be particularly fond of the old man, but I still care about him, enough to start running like a madman towards his house. He’s drunk most of the time so it wouldn’t surprise me if he accidentally threw himself down the stairs.

Bursting in through his door I yell his name, “Haymitch!” 

As expected, I get no response. I walk on soft feet through to his living room where he lies prone on his sofa, one of his arms hanging limply to the floor where a bottle of half finished liquor sways a little. No doubt he fell asleep like this. 

I give him a rough shake, and for once it’s enough to rouse him from his slumber. He sits up, giving me a disgruntled look, before taking another swig from the bottle. I snatch it from his hands, and he looks up at me, clearly pissed off.

I narrow my eyes at him, “Do you have a guest Haymitch, or have the racoons finally taken over?” 

“Wha-?” He continues to stare at me nonplussed.

“Jesus, how out of it were you Haymitch?” 

“I’d say he’d been out cold for a couple hours when I came in,” says an achingly familiar voice behind me.

I jump, and both mine and Haymitch’s head snap towards the source of the voice, where a blond boy - no, man - stands. He’s smirking slightly, I imagine at the shocked expressions our faces are wearing. I can’t help it, it’s a reflex really, one that I hate to have developed, but I take a step back. Peeta looks at me, and his smile drops, if only by a fraction.  I wince, I don’t mean it, just a precaution.

He looks well, and his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. As I stare unabashadley at him, he frowns slightly. 

“So, what, you just let yourself in and started doing god knows what with my kitchen?” Haymitch grouses. I finally manage to snap my attention away from him, and become very interested in my shoes. 

From the corner of my eyes, I watch as Peeta scratches the back of his neck and bounces his foot nervously, “Guess I’m more of a self-imposed guest then.” 

Following his comment, a silence falls over the room. I can’t really remember the last time we were all together alone like this. It must have been some time before the Quell happened, when we were training. Less than a year ago then, yet it feels like a lifetime. 

Quietly, I clear my throat, trying to think of something to say that will break this awkward tension that’s settled over the room. I should have left earlier. Instead I just say, “Well seeing as you’re OK, I’ll be on my way.” I point lamely to the front door, and start making my way over there. 

I’m just about out of the whole stinking house, hating them both for ruining what was looking to be a good morning, when Haymitch calls after me, “Hold it sweetheart, what’s in the bag?” 

I huff, yanking the whole bag off before throwing it at his face. As hungover as he is, his reflexes are still remarkably good and he catches it before it hits him. He gives me a pointed glare before taking a look inside. Giving me a satisfied smirk, he throws the bag back and announces, “We’ll have dinner at yours then.” 

I’m about to protest when he comes lumbering over to the door and slams it in my face. I stand dumb-struck, face inches from the door, hunting bag hanging clenched in my fist.

Breathe in. Breathe out. It’s all OK. 

———————————————————————-

I stand over my stove, grinding my teeth and staring resolutely out of the window, only occasionally looking down as I stir the mediocre stew I’ve concocted.  I worry my lip between my teeth, not caring if it starts to bleed. There’s so much that has been left unsaid between Peeta and I, a thousand apologies and explanations owed both ways. And I don’t even know where to start, or if I even want to open that conversation yet. But I’m wracking my brains and I can’t find anything else that Peeta and I really have in common, other than our horrific experiences. I decide that I’ll simply try and get through this dinner with as little talking as possible. 

I spent the rest of the day after the rude encounter with Haymitch and surprise reunion with Peeta cleaning up the entirety of the house and packing away the rest of the clutter, making space for whoever was going to move in after I left. I find that the menial chores of everyday life, such as cleaning, cooking, washing, help to alleviate some of my pent up frustration and have quite a calming effect. As dull and repetitive as they can be, focusing my brain power on such an unimportant task helps keep me centered and grounded in reality. 

It’s around that time of day when the afternoon is coming to an end, and the sun is starting to lower in the sky. The sun is coming in at an odd angle, blinding me, when I hear a firm knock at the door. I huff, stomping down the hallway to the entryway, rubbing my eyes to get rid of the white spots in my vision. Thinking it’s Haymitch coming early to give me some sort of lecture about behaviour around the newest inhabitant of Victors Village, or to watch me cook and tell me I’m doing it wrong.  I yank open the front door and say in a rather impatient voice, “You needn’t have come early, I know perfectly well how to cook without burning my house down.” 

I’m still squinting slightly, but when my vision finally clears I see only a broad chest standing in front of me. Looking up, I’m met with Peeta’s  face, once more frowning at me. “I know that,” he says, “I just thought I’d come early to help out a little, I brought some bread,” he sheepishly lifts his left arm showing me a small basket filled with rolls and buns. 

“Oh,” I stammer, “right, well come on in then.”

I turn my back and start marching back to the kitchen, scrunching my face and resisting the urge to bang my head repeatedly against a wall. Of all the ways I could invite Peeta into my house, that has got to be one of the worst. “Mind the boxes,” I say as an afterthought, conscious that most of the front of this house is littered with them, and not wanting him to trip over one. 

He hums behind me, and I can hear his heavy tread picking over the little maze that I’d inadvertently created when piling them up. 

I plant myself in front of the stove again, stirring the simmering stew - even though I know full well that it doesn’t need stirring anymore - and yank the curtain closed. 

He enters the kitchen and out of the corner of my eye I see him glance back down the hallway furrowing his brow slightly, I silently beg for him not to ask about them. 

“You can put the basket on the table,” I rush out, as soon as I see him open his mouth. He nods his head, and places the basket on the corner of the table. I can feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. I don’t think I’ve ever wished for the arrival of Haymitch, but right now I really hope he comes waltzing in.

“What’s with the boxes?”

No such luck.

I sigh, and hunch myself over the countertop. “I’m, uh, leaving.” 

“Oh,” he says it quietly, and I’m not sure if I was even supposed to hear it. 

“District 4,” I elaborate, even though he didn’t ask, “My mother got a job there, and there’s a school with a good training program for Prim.”

“That’s good, I guess,” he says, his leg has started to bounce again, “I was wondering where they were.”

A silence falls over the room, and my breathing starts to pick up. Just say something! My brain scrambles for something to say, because there is no way I can stand here in silence with Peeta. “I only really came back here to, you know, pack up, and uh… say goodbye.” 

As I pull out the drawer to look for a good bread knife, I see Peeta nod, digesting this information. Still he says nothing, nothing about what he thinks of this, what he feels about me leaving. I don’t know why I should care, but I find that I do. Where is Haymitch? Can’t he for once in his life be on time? I’m drowning here, helplessly floundering around.

“Well you know how it is,” I continue, “needing a fresh start, after everything that’s happened…” I don’t know why I’m saying all of this, to Peeta no less, but the words won’t stop pouring out of my mouth. 

I take a deep breath to steady myself, and consider clamping a hand over my mouth to stop myself from saying any more. Peeta stands stock still in the entryway of the kitchen, I don’t think he knows what to say, which is a first. I’ve rendered Peeta Mellark speechless. 

To fill the quiet, and desperate not to say anything else, I begin scurrying around the kitchen. Wiping off countertops, and rinsing already cleaned and drying dishes. I’m frantic, and I have no clue as to where to go from here. What to say to this man standing in my kitchen, someone I know so much, and yet so little about. 

I’m banging open cupboards and drawers, searching for a knife to cut the bread with, when Peeta comes to stand beside me. I’m searching through a drawer, which I know doesn’t hold a bread knife, my hands are shaking and I can’t make them stop. That’s when he reaches over, and clasps my hands in his. I freeze, and look straight ahead at the standard kitchen tile, willing myself to breathe.

“Katniss,” he murmurs, “look at me.”

I blink slowly, and my lip trembles, but slowly I turn my head to look at him. He’s so close, and he’s looking at me with such intensity that it should make me nervous, but it doesn’t. 

“It’s OK,” he smiles, in what I think is supposed to be a reassuring way, but I’m transfixed by his eyes, and they’re not smiling with him. I sag slightly, I want so badly for it to be OK, every morning I trick myself into believing it’s OK, just to be able to get up. It isn’t though.

“No, no it’s not OK,” I whisper, “None of anything that happened was ‘OK’.”

I look down, fascinated by the way his large pale hands seem to engulf my own smaller darker ones. He doesn’t seem to have a response to that either, so we just stand there in silence, until Haymitch finally comes strolling through my back door. 

Quickly, I yank my hands from Peeta’s and take a step back, brushing away non-existent wrinkles in my clothing. Haymitch, seemingly unaware of the strained atmosphere in the room, plonks himself down at the table before rambling on about some phone call he received from Plutarch. Peeta tries to catch my eye, but I move swiftly away, collecting bowls and spoons, and finally procuring that wretched bread knife. Carrying them over to the table, I give Haymitch a withering look, it isn’t exactly his fault that I’m unable to be in a room alone with Peeta and have a normal conversation, but he didn’t have to invite everyone round to my house for supper either. 

He quirks one of his eyebrows in amusement, catching on to my annoyance. 

“I hope you didn’t stare at the food with such a sour face, you might have spoiled it,” he says, eyes narrowing at me in challenge. Goading me into saying something I might regret. He thinks I’m stupid, he thinks I don’t understand why he’s doing this to me. I fully understand that this is him punishing me for leaving, he doesn’t want me to know it, that he doesn’t want me to go, but unfortunately for him he told me once when I was escorting him back to his house after another one of these damned dinners. 

He’d leant in close to my ear, breathing sour fumes into my face, and said, “You shouldn’t leave, you can’t leave, Twelve is your home remember. And anyway, what’re you gonna do without your favourite resident drunk.” It hadn’t been the first time he’d tried to guilt me into staying, but at least he’d shown more finesse before, using Peeta’s inevitable return against me. This was the first time he had actually shown any indication that he was remorseful of my decision to leave. He’d then belched loudly, and fallen asleep right there, with me holding him up in the middle of the road. 

I stare him down, daring him to say another word, but he reaches over the table and grabs the bread and knife. “Well at least I can know that one part of this meal won’t give me food poisoning,” he exclaims loudly, I only roll my eyes and stalk over to the stewpot. Peeta tries once more to grab my attention, but I studiously avert my gaze from his and busy myself with finding a tea towel to carry over the steaming dish. I sigh quietly in relief when Peeta finally makes his way over to the table and takes a seat opposite to Haymitch.

“We’ve missed your bread around these parts,” Haymitch proclaims, “haven’t we, sweetheart?” He looks up at me, daring me to deny this sentiment.

I place the pot down onto the table with a little more force than necessary, causing both Haymitch and Peeta to jump in their seats. I give each of them my best glare, effectively shutting off all conversation for the next five minutes. 

As we eat in awkward quietude, the only sounds that fill the room are the clink of a spoon hitting a bowl or a crunch as someone bites into a roll.

The silence suits me just fine, and the glowering looks that Haymitch sends me from over his bowl don’t bother me in the slightest. At first I don’t realise, but Peeta starts to fidget on the other side of the table, tapping out an erratic beat on the table and holding his spoon in a death grip before releasing it slightly. 

I watch in fascination as his knuckles turn white from the effort, I know it’s a horrible thing to think, but I begin to wonder if it’s my throat he really wants to grip in a chokehold. I give an involuntary shiver, and stare down at the stew that I so hastily threw together, ashamed of my line of thought. 

I’ve just about finished my bowl, when Haymitch clears his throat. I inwardly groan, does the man never take a holiday? 

To my surprise, however, he only leans back in his chair, levels us both with a look, and says, “Thank you, that was… lovely,” his features, so hardened by years of having children die on his conscience, soften slightly and he turns his focus to me. I shrink back a little at the scrutinisation, but his eyes hold no malice, they just look right into my soul and I know what he’s going to say before he even says it, “You did good, sweetheart.”

Even though I knew it was coming, my breath momentarily stills in my chest. I look back at him and my face crumples. Haymitch knew exactly what he was doing when he said it, he’s reminding me that we were, and still are, a team. That as much as he doesn’t want to be, and I don’t want him to be, he’s here. And I am forgiven. 

“Boy, would you give us a moment,” Haymitch says softly. 

I’m barely holding myself together, the flimsy strings that have been holding my already fragile psyche together all these weeks are about to fail, and I’m once more grateful for the fact that Haymitch understands me so well, because as much as I hate to admit it, I can’t fall apart in front of Peeta.  

I hear rather than see Peeta hastily vacate the room, and though I was expecting a floodgate to open and for the tears to stream from eyes as if a dam had been broken, none come. The kitchen isn’t filled with my howls and sobs, it’s filled only with the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. Within me though, an inferno rages. Filled with the screams of the far gone dead, and me at the center gasping and retching. 

They are bursting to be let loose, they are threatening to tear at the very seams of my sanity and being. Some are my fault, some happened on accident, and some happened because I wasn’t watching closely enough, but they all shout the same. It starts with my father and ends with Squad 451. It’s pent up somewhere inside me, all the hurt and anguish, under lock and key, and it’s writhing and scrambling to be let loose. For me to let it go. But I’m scared that if I do so there won’t be anything left. These people’s deaths are what define me, and I have no idea where I lay in the mess of faults and debts.

In the kitchen though, silence still reigns, I’m staring stoically at the tiny amount of  watery liquid that remains at the bottom of my bowl. Haymitch takes my clenched fists in his own roughened and grubby hands. He doesn’t bore me with trite platitudes, he just sits in silence waiting for me to either release my torment, or push it back down. 

We stay like this for what seems like hours, but eventually my tense muscles relax slightly and I remember how to breathe normally. My ghosts are silent again. I look up at Haymitch, exhausted and emotionally rung out, and I wait for his ‘sage’ advice to come. All he offers up though is;

“You got off the train, sweetheart. Stop trying to get back on.” 

He rises from the table, and for once he carries the dishes over to the sink. He pats me once on the shoulder before leaving. I watch as he hobbles from my kitchen and down the road to his own house, looking years older than a man his age should.

—————————————————————————–

After the somewhat disastrous dinner, I made sure to isolate myself from anyone who might cause me some sort of distress. It wasn’t hard, seeing as I’ve never been the most sociable of beings, and I had plenty to do before my departure. I packed the remainder of the house up, and left a bottle of liquor on Haymitch’s doorstep, with a hastily tied bow wrapped around its neck. I then ventured into the woods, I didn’t bother with getting out one of my bows and arrows, I just wandered through the dense foliage, silently saying goodbye to all I used to know, and with it my childhood. 

The people came, as arranged, to help move the boxes to the train station. I boarded the train in the dead of night, with only Greasy Sae there to bid me farewell. The train moved out of the station with little ado, and I found myself a spot in one of the corners, sat on a crinkly tarp. 

It was decided that if I was to be travelling from District 12 to District 4, it couldn’t be on one of the new passenger trains, it would cause too much ‘excitement’ as Plutarch so eloquently told me. I was to travel in one of the trains filled with building materials, and rations. I agreed, as I see myself as being rather intimate with small cramped spaces.

The train chugged along, rocking me into a state of tranquility. I breathed in, and I breathed out, hoping with all of me that it could finally be OK.

——————————————————————–

It isn’t until a few days after my arrival in Four that I see it, a small piece of paper on my floor. It must have fallen from one of the boxes whilst I was unpacking. Frowning, I pick it up, 

If you ever want to talk.  - Peeta

Underneath is a number, a phone number, Peeta’s phone number. I clutch the paper in my fist, crumpling it a little. I’m standing stock still in my room, the sunlight is filtering in through the window. It isn’t particularly special, in fact, the writing is scrawled, as if he was rushing to get it done. But it’s still from Peeta, and it’s rattled me. 

There’s so much to do, I promised Prim we could go for a walk on the beach, Gale is visiting, I said I’d go see Annie for tea. But right now, none of that matters, because the world has gone still with me, and I don’t know what to do.   

I yank open my desk drawer, looking at the crumpled piece of paper one last time, before placing it in there with all of the other things that I no longer know what to do with, but can’t get rid of; a locket, a pin, a pearl, and a spile. I then slam the drawer shut, hoping that the sounding finality of it will echo across all time, time to say goodbye to all that. I close my eyes against the desperate want to open it again and cradle all of these things in my trembling hands. There’s just so much to do. 

——————————————————————-

I manage to stay away from the drawer, and the objects inside that call for my attention. I take walks on the beach with my mother and Prim, listening to all my little sister has to say. She looks so happy and content as she jumps and twirls on the sand and it makes me happy. I sit with Annie, in the surf or on her porch, holding her hand through her grief, or letting her talk about all she wants. Sometimes we prefer the sound of the waves though, letting the reliable sound of it coming and going fill us with a sense of security. Because even if it goes, it always comes back. 

Gale visits, and we try our hand at fishing and sailing. We fall in a lot, and the cold water is shocking and sobering. It’s good to be back on familiar ground with Gale, the uncertainty and mistrust that plagued our friendship over the past year still hangs over our heads, but we don’t talk about it. Sometimes, though, I’ll catch him looking at me a certain way, or a silence will fall over us, and I’ll curse the war for nurturing such a blank space in our friendship. 

I look into the Capitol archives, at my mothers request, to look for pictures of myself and Primrose from when we were younger. 

The pictures I find are black and white, standard for the mandatory pictures we had to take in school. In mine, I look about ten years old, I’m wearing two braids with ribbons in them. I don’t seem too pleased about this, in fact I look about ready to tear off the head of anyone who says anything about the ribbons. I’m staring at the camera with mild curiosity, but mostly apprehension, though the small smile I’m wearing suggests differently. Primrose looks so young, still carrying a meagre amount of baby fat, her blonde hair falling only to her small shoulders. I can practically hear her giggling at the camera, all blue eyed and dimpled. I forgot that she used to look like that, and my heart aches for the family of four who lived in a small shack in the Seam. I even find a picture of my mother, from when she was younger, and what people said is true. She’s beautiful, around fifteen or sixteen in her picture, and she’s giving the camera a sweet smile, her beguiling eyes are clear of all sorrow that plagued her later years.  

For a while, these pictures take pride of place on our mantle, next to my mother and fathers wedding picture, until Prim declares we must take new ones. So, we do. And their lively colour fills first our mantle, relegating the others (apart from the wedding photo) to my mothers bedside table, not quite forgotten, but no longer the center of attention anymore. Then our fridge, and eventually Prim and I create little collages on the wall. 

My phone calls with the good doctor dwindle to once a week. He tells me that whilst I might always ache for the ones I have lost, making new, happier, memories is a ‘damn good way to honour their memory’. 

———————————————–

All of this ‘moving forwards’ business comes to a grinding halt, however, on the 4th of July. My forced abstinence from the drawer of trinkets that I can’t make sense of, ends. It’s Reaping Day. And I feel so alone. 

I’m awake before dawn, having screamed myself awake from the nightmares that won’t ever leave. I don’t bother with going back to sleep. I slip out of bed and make my way to the kitchen, where I boil the kettle for something to do. 

The tide is in, licking its way further up the sand, coming closer and closer to our house. It never reaches, but a part of me always thinks that it will. I seat myself on our window seat, watching as the water encroaches further up the beach, swallowing sand as it goes. I curl my feet up underneath me, and drink slow tentative sips from my mug. 

Though I try to focus all of my attention on watching the water, my eyes keep on finding their way back to the phone that hangs happy and yellow from the wall, just out of reach. If my eyes aren’t staring holes into the phone, they start fidgeting over to my closed bedroom door, searching for the strength to stay where I am.

My tea goes cold, the tide starts to move back out, and the sky begins to go pink. And still my attention is focused only on the phone and the whiteness of my bedroom door.

Eventually, my will bends, and I can’t stand the stillness of my indecision anymore, I abandon my mug on the table and shuffle over to my room. I find the note exactly where I left it, crumpled in a ball and left to collect dust. A part of me was starting to think that I might have imagined its existence. 

Smoothing out the crumpled paper in my hands, I promise myself only once. 

I dial the number before I can lose my resolve and back out, and wait, impatiently tapping my foot. The phone seems to dial forever, and I’m sure that it’s about to ring off when I hear the click of the phone being picked up.

“Hello,” the voice that crackles through the speaker sounds remarkably tired and my heart sinks like a stone, “Peeta Mellark speaking, who is this?” 

I open my mouth, but my voice sticks in my throat and I can’t get the words out for the life of me. 

“Hello?” 

I close my mouth and breathe in deeply through my nose, trying to calm the nerves that are causing my heart to bang incessantly against my ribcage. I feel as if I have run a marathon. My head is pounding and my palms are sweating. 

“Alright, well I’m going to hang up now.”

I panic, scared that he might actually hang up and then I won’t be able to get a hold of him again; “Wait!” 

“Katniss?” He sounds so shocked and mildly confused. When I hear him say my name, I realise how desperate I’ve actually been to just hear his voice again. I want to talk to him, so I force the rest of the words to unstick from my voice box.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I say, taking another deep breath, “Katniss.”

There’s no sound from the other end of the line, and for a moment I’m scared that he might have hung up the phone. 

Almost as if he was reading my mind he says, “Sorry, just grabbing a chair.”

“Oh.” The relief is tangible in my voice.

Once more a silence fills the line, with only the crackle of static and white noise filling it. I’m filled with a sudden sense of guilt, why did I leave it so long? 

“So…” Peeta starts, “you called.”

“Yeah,” I reply, searching for something to say that won’t outright tell him that I only called him because I was feeling lonely. Isn’t that why I called him though, because I’m so alone, even when I’m around people. I shake the thought from my head, Peeta doesn’t need, let alone want to hear about that. 

He’s about to say something, but I jump in before he can, “Peeta, I’m sorry for not calling you before,” and as I say it I realise that I mean it, I really am sorry for shutting him out of my life. Because as much as I want to move on, I can’t if I leave whatever we have unresolved. I take a deep breath and manage to squeak out, “It’s Reaping Day, and I can’t get through it without you.”

I lean heavily against the wall, suddenly weak in the knees from my confession, scared that it won’t be enough to start to make up for all the harm I’ve caused him. 

Turns out that it is though, because he tells me to take a seat, and he starts to talk. Distracting me from the paranoia I’m feeling, how am I supposed to get through this day every year for the rest of my life. I have a sudden vision of resurrecting snow from the dead, just so I can kill him, for all the suffering he has caused me, everyone really.  

He talks about nothing at first, but then I join in, and I realise it’s not that bad. It’s actually good, I feel good talking to him, like a weight has been lifted from me and I’ve finally reached the surface of deep deep water. Breathing in deep, clean breaths of air. 

“Tell me, what’s happening in Four, right now I mean,” he asks.

“Umm,” I turn my head to look out the window, “the sun is starting to rise over the houses.” 

“Oh?” he says, interest piqued, “that must be pretty, describe it to me.” 

I do, stumbling over my words and trying to tell him just how gorgeous it is. How the pinks wash away the greys and blues of twilight, how the sun looks so yellow and bright, delighting in the fact that it is rising once more, how it makes me feel as if the world is being given permission to awaken by the sun. And once I’m done I can feel that Peeta is smiling on the other end of the line.

“The sunset is even better, you should come see it,” I whisper without really thinking about what it is implicating. 

A silence settles over us once more, and it isn’t awkward even though my last sentiment is hanging in the air. 

Peeta either didn’t hear what I said, or chooses to not say anything to it, because what he says next is so completely off topic that it takes me off guard; “Katniss, why did you vote for there to be another Hunger Games?” His voice is grave, and I can tell that this has been on his mind for the entirety of our conversation, if not longer.

“I’m sorry,” he says, following my prolonged silence, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no,” I say, quick to wave off his apology, “you have a right to know.”

I’m quiet whilst I try to collect my thoughts, and Peeta doesn’t interrupt, already sensing that this will open up a larger conversation, one that I wasn’t anticipating when I decided to pick up the phone.

“Coin didn’t like me because I didn’t trust her. She wanted my support when it came to electing a new leader, and she wasn’t sure that she would get it from me. So, she wanted me gone, I had served my purpose as the Mockingjay, and now I was more useful as a martyr than anything else. That’s why she sent you out onto the field, and had you join Squad 451, she was hoping that you would kill me,” at this I hear Peeta’s sharp intake of breath, and I can already hear him try to start to apologise, but that would only open up a whole other can of worms, and I only want to say all of this once, so I continue heedless of Peeta’s attempt to interrupt with an apology.

“I guess she wanted to get it on film or something, to prove what a horrible monster Snow was, turning two lovers against each other, and all that. As we both know, that didn’t really work out for her when we went off the grid on our own mission. She could no longer control what I did, and had no one supervising me, she could only hope that one of the many pods in the Capitol would kill me off. When it became clear that I wasn’t dead, and in fact very much alive, despite much of our Squad not being so, she needed to get me back under control. Rope me back in as it were.”

I suck in a deep breath, preparing myself for what I would next confess. I have only spoken of this once, shortly with Gale. Long enough to know the gist of what happened, and understand what exactly needed to happen next. Peeta sits in silence on the other end of the phone, I have his attention, “Coin needed to break me, she needed me to be so worn down and desperate that I would go for the easy way out. The people would now follow me into anything, and if I did not lead them to Coin they would not go on their own.”

“So, she authorised Prim to be sent into the field. Only thirteen, she would not have been allowed otherwise. That day, in the City Circle… Primrose was supposed to be there, by chance her hovercraft got held up with some sort of technical difficulties, and only made it in time to see the aftermath of the second round of bombs going off.”

“I voted for another Hunger Games because I could see no other way out, nothing was going to change. Ever. Not with Coin around, anyway. I needed her to trust me, to think that I was on her side.” 

I hear Peeta suck in a sharp breath on the other end of the line, digesting all of this information, and understanding what I’m implicating. That Coin’s assassination wasn’t just me going slightly off the rails. 

“Guess the odds were slightly in my favour on that one,” I add with a wry smile. 

The line is quiet for a while, but Peeta catches on faster than I expected, and asks; “Does anyone else know?”

I debate on telling him names, but decide against it. He already knows enough, and if there ever is a deeper investigation on the matter, I don’t want Peeta to be implicated. “As far as I know, only three, and one of them is dead anyway.” 

In my mind’s eye, I see Peeta nodding his head, understanding that he won’t be getting names and shouldn’t press me on the matter. 

“Does, uh, Prim know what could have happened to her?” He questions in a soft voice.

“We’ve never really talked about it, but I assume she does. She was part of the crew that helped rescue myself and a few others from the carnage.” I look out the window, curling myself tighter into my ball on the window seat, picturing what my sister must have seen that day, I shiver involuntarily, my voice trailing off. The sun has risen fully now, and I can hear my mother and Prim rousing, getting ready for the day. 

“Listen, I - uh - have to go, my mother and Prim are awake, and Prim will probably want to be with me today.” I chew nervously at my nail, wincing out how it might sound to Peeta.

“Oh, right, of course,” he replies hastily, “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Frantic that he might disconnect the line, and I won’t get the chance to speak to him again, I rush out; “I’ll call again, I promise.”

“OK, that’s… good.” he states.

I can hear some shuffling on the end of the line, and I know he’s standing up to hang up the phone so I hastily add, “Oh, and Peeta, take care of yourself.” I then rush to hang up the phone before him, with a smile as bright as the sun on my face. 

Later that day I receive calls from both Johanna and Haymitch. Johanna tells me she’s planning on visiting soon, and with a chirpy voice that drips with sarcasm trills down the phone, “Happy Hunger Games, brainless!” Then hangs up the phone so fast I have no chance to get a word in. Haymitch calls rather late in the evening, already buzzed, and slurs some well wishes down the phone that make hardly any sense. 

I spend most of the day with Annie and Prim, who clings to my side and holds me at every opportunity she gets, sitting on the warm beach, sunning, and listening to tales of the sea that Annie murmurs to us whilst stroking her steadily swelling tummy.

Gale visits in the late afternoon, though it wasn’t planned, stating he won’t be staying for long. We sit next to each other on an abandoned pier that’s become our new spot, and he lets me lean my head on his shoulder. We sit in silence whilst I doze in and out of a light sleep, and he stares steadfastly out into the ocean, intermittently stroking my hair. 

That evening, my mother, myself, and Prim sit on the porch, listening to the wind whistle through the reeds, and the waves crash against the shore. My mother brushes and braids my hair, and I let her. Prim sings silly songs that our father used to sing to us when we were little, whilst she strokes a rather disgruntled Buttercup. 

I’m not surprised when that night Prim curls up into bed next to me, hugging me tightly. She whispers into my neck, “I won’t let them take you from me, not ever again.” I stroke her hair and back, murmuring assurances into the top of her haid, fighting the urge to cry. 

When she asks if I’ll sing the Meadow Song to her, I do, but I have to stop when the tears start  streaming down my face. Prim, so young, and yet so wise, understands, and tells me in no uncertain words, “Rue is safe now, they’re all safe.” And with those words accompanying me, I fall into the first dreamless sleep I’ve had in months.

——————————————————————–

I make good on my promise to Peeta a week later, breaking my silly promise to myself that I would only call him once, and call him. We only talk for about ten minutes, where he tells me all about the rebuilding in Twelve and how Haymitch has adopted some wild geese, and I tell him about the comings and goings of Four. The conversation isn’t a long one, and we don’t touch on any touchy subjects, but I realise it’s enough. It’s enough to hear his voice, and to know that he’s OK. Eventually, our calls go from every other week, to once a week, to twice a week, to every other day. We have a few false starts, but I come to realise that that’s OK too. Sometimes, our conversations are lengthy, and other times, they are a mere five minutes of us sharing meaningless conversation.

Dr. Aurelius continues to call, and gives me new ways to deal with and think about everything that happened. Usually half of what he says is complete jargon, but if I listen closely enough I can pick out the little nuggets of advice that are worth my while. 

Buttercup finally ventures further out onto the beach when he realises that that’s where all his fish dinners are coming from, and ascertains that he’s still scared of water after what I did to him as a kitten. It amuses Gale and I though, to watch the cat find a fish in one of the many rock pools, and hiss at the unyielding water whilst stalking around the pool. 

Johanna does come and visit, in late July, and she has me lead her into the sea bit by bit. It takes two weeks of some tears, lots of swearing and cursing at the Capitol and Snow, coaxing from myself, and shouts of encouragement from both my sister and Annie before Johanna manages to stand before me, salty water up to her armpits. She’s gripping my forearms in a vice hold, and she’s standing mere inches from my face.

Gritting her teeth she hisses out, “Say something, anything, to distract me.”

I think for a moment before telling her, “You know that weird lumpy thing on my forearm that you were commenting on earlier,” she nods at me, “You gave me that ugly scar, you bitch.” 

It has the desired effect, and she starts cackling, before adding, “A thank you would have been nicer.” She then dunks herself fully underwater. When she comes back up, Annie and my sister are cheering from the beach, my mother is leaning against the railing on our porch stairs smiling. Johanna coughs a few times, before shaking the water from her short choppy hair like a dog, and embraces me fiercely, wheezing into my ear, “We don’t talk about this, ever again, alright.” 

I only smile, and pat her on the back a few times, before leading her back onto the beach, where the sun dries our chilled bodies. 

Later that day, when my sister has gone off to one of her classes, Annie, Johanna, and I sit on the sand watching the waves rolling in and out. It has a calming effect, and the hypnotic sounds cause both myself and Johanna to yawn and lay back, looking up at the clear blue sky. 

Johanna’s almost dozed off and I’m beginning to feel heavy headed, when Annie unwittingly plants a seed in our heads. She turns and looks out at the unrelenting sea, and says, “Have you ever wondered what else might be out there? I used to, I still do. Finnick used to tease me for it, said there was no point in wondering about the what ifs of this world, I don’t know though.” 

Johanna and I both look at each other in bewilderment, to be truthful I had never really considered the wider world around me when I was younger, too concerned with the here and now and the immediate obstacles facing me; such as getting enough food to live through the week. I think the younger me would have sided with Finnick on this, why ponder about something so out of reach and fantastical. Sure it might have been a fun thing to wonder about, but at the same time a little hard to wrap one’s head around. But now… the possibilities seem endless, and the thought of there being more people out there doesn’t seem so worrisome and out of reach anymore. 

Johanna says something first, “Nope, never wondered. And even if there were other people out there who’s to say they wouldn’t be ten times worse than us.”

Annie shrugs, and says with a little smile, “Who’s to say they’re not terribly nice, and maybe even awfully rich,” She looks down at us with an intense look in her eyes, “My mother used to say there were people, from way back when, who would pillage and steal from other ships and cities, they were called Pirates and they sailed the seven seas in massive wooden boats,” She sighs contentedly, obviously thinking of some sort of happy memory that we’re not privy to, “Doesn’t that sound amazing?” 

I try to imagine this, stormy seas and troubled skies with big ships rocking back and forth on the waves, but I can’t quite envision it. We abandon the conversation and the sun begins to set. I sigh contentedly, watching as the sky turns a blood red and the few clouds are stained orange.

Johanna nudges my arm, “Say, I’ve been meaning to ask, how’s things with lover-boy? Is there anything happening between you two?” 

I’d managed to avoid this conversation with basically everybody for the past couple of months. My conversations with Peeta were a private matter and it was a luxury that I was extremely grateful for after our relationship in the past being shoved under a microscope for all to see, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to let anyone in on this yet, if ever. I’m pretty certain that my mother and Prim are aware of whom I’m talking to on the phone, but they’ve never asked me about it, for which I am thankful.

I ring out the ends of my hair, which are still a bit damp from the sea, and gnaw at my lip, “Uhhh, nothing much to tell really…” 

Johanna makes a disbelieving sound and raises her eyebrows at me, “Sure there isn’t, brainless,” she turns to look back out at the sun setting, and I think she’s going to drop it when she adds, “You’re still an awful liar, by the way.”

I splutter, trying to seem cool and indifferent, but clearly they both see right through me. Annie pats my shoulder sympathetically, before proffering her opinion; “It’s alright, Katniss, you don’t have to tell if you don’t want to… but if you are talking, I think you should invite him for a visit, he’s probably awfully lonely in Twelve with only Haymitch and the reconstructors for company.”

This last comment gives me pause, I’d never really considered what Peeta does when he’s not on the phone to me. I just sort of assumed that he painted and baked and did other Peeta-ish things, I don’t really surprise myself with this either, for I am once more reminded of how self-centered I am, especially when it comes to Peeta. 

I scratch at my ankle absentmindedly, “Yeah, maybe I will.”

We sit on the beach even after the sun has gone down, Annie’s words still ring in my head and I actually begin to consider inviting Peeta. At the moment, I’m completely fine with keeping our friendship as an over-the-phone thing, I know it’s always there waiting and I can always come back to it.

 Annie is a good distraction from these thoughts though, as she points out a few constellations. I’ve never been much of a star gazer, my father used to try and show me the shapes they made in the sky, but I could never make them out, so instead of showing my inadequacy I just pretended I didn’t care. 

She likes these sort of things though, myths and legends that her mother told her when she was little, passed down from mouth to ear for centuries. We used to have an old man like that in District 12, he would hang around the Hob telling stories from an overturned crate to the miners’ children. My father used to describe him as ‘away with the fairies’ and I find that that analogy fits Annie rather well.

Eventually, Annie bids us a good night and clambers up the beach. Johanna, still lying next to me, turns her head to face me. Her eyes are hard, and her face looks serious, I’m about to ask her what’s wrong when she holds up her hand to stop me.

“Look, I’m not going to pretend to know what type of relationship you have with Peeta, but I’m gonna tell you this straight because I know Annie would never. You are the only one out of us Victors who got out of the war relatively unscathed, the rest of us kind of lost everything and everyone we ever knew. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, but you should be aware of this.”

She sucks in a breath, clearly quite desperate for me to understand, “You care for him to some extent right? Like enough to risk your life for him, repeatedly?” she asks me. I nod slowly, wondering where she is headed with this impassioned monologue. “Then cling to it, and don’t ever let go. You have him now, you could have him now if you chose to do so. I’m not saying in that way, because I have no idea where you are at with that hot cousin of yours, but you have a choice. Which is not something the rest of us have. Your months of pining after him in District 13 are over, brainless.”

“I wouldn’t say I pined after him,” I say defensively.

“Oh whatever,” Johanna replies, borderline aggressive, “and that is so not the point anyway.”

“No, I know.”

“Just think about it, alright?” she says as she pulls herself up from the sand, waiting for me to follow.

We’re walking up the beach when Johanna adds, “Also what the fuck is up with Annie and her crazy stories? I have not once thought that there might be something else out there,” she waves her hand out dismissively at the ocean, “Is that just me?”

I snort at this, she might be one for cultivating awkward situations, and she loves uncomfortable lines of questioning, but she never really gets so earnest about it. I decide to play along, “No, I never did either, until this evening of course. I guess when you live next to the sea though, and you can see where the horizon ends, it makes sense that someone like Annie would wonder about what came after.” 

Johanna nods at this, adding in a conspiratorial voice, “I think we would make great pirates, don’t you brainless?” 

I laugh a genuine laugh at this, “Sure we would be.”

———————————————————————– 

Summer wears on, and things happen as usual. Buttercup learns that he can scare the fish into leaping out of the water, so that he can catch them in his mouth. I help Annie in buying things to prepare for her baby. Her tummy is swollen, and looks quite uncomfortable. When she walks, she does the signature pregnant woman waddle. I continue my calls with Peeta, and eventually I decided that it wouldn’t be half bad if Peeta came to visit. It takes me a while to build up the nerve to invite him, remembering the last time I made an off-hand comment about it, but I do. We speak at length about it, and eventually I convince him. It takes the incentive of a break from Haymitch, and a sunset to remember for the ages to get him to agree, but in time he does. A date is set in September, which according to Annie is when the sea is at its warmest. I find that I’m actually looking forward to it, and when I tell my mother and Prim about it, I can’t help but grin like an idiot. My mother gives me a knowing smile, that I try not to let grate on me, and Prim gives me a brief but excitable hug.

I knew the conversation would have to happen at some point, even so, I’m not prepared for it when it comes. I was hoping that the conversation wouldn’t have to happen at all, but I know that if Gale and I are going to have any sort of relationship in the future I need to start being honest with him. I think I owe him that much. 

We’re heaving ourselves out of the water, onto the pier. We went deep sea fishing, and on the wooden planks awaits a healthy pile of clams, muscles and oysters that we’ve collected over the morning. Gale is busy separating them off into separate piles and counting them up, whilst I’m wringing out my hair and tying it up into a bun so it doesn’t drip too much down my back, when he casually asks what I’m doing next weekend. I freeze, deliberating on how I should best tell him this.

I decide I should just be bluntly honest with him, “Uh, Peeta’s coming to visit,” I try to keep all inflections of emotion out of my voice, nonetheless I still choke on the last part of the sentence as it comes out. 

Out of the corner of my eye I see Gale freeze in his sorting, but he recovers quickly and continues, asking in a level voice, “I didn’t know you were in touch with him?” 

To his credit, it doesn’t sound like an accusation, more of an enquiry. “Yeah well, most people don’t. I guess after so long of having everyone paying attention to us, I just wanted to keep it private.”

“That makes sense,” Gale replies easily.

I’m a little confused, and perhaps even a little peeved that Gale is acting so reasonable. A part of me wants him to freak out on me, or become acidicly jealous. I’m not really sure why that is, but it’s the truth. 

Gale gets up to grab his shirt, and it seems that he is wholly done with this conversation. This confuses me even further, what is he playing at? I try to read his face, try to understand what he actually thinks about this, so I know where to go next. But his trademark scowl is absent from his face as he reaches for a towel to scrub at his hair, it’s neutral and passive. 

“We’re not an item you know,” I blurt out.

Gale stills, and looks up from underneath the towel, “OK?” 

I once again try to read his expression, but come up short. Losing my patience with him I cry out, “Oh for fucks sake Gale! Would you just tell me what you’re thinking, instead of acting like a… like a block of cheese.” 

He raises his eyebrows at this, “A block of cheese? Really, Catnip?” he chuckles, and I feel myself blushing furiously.

“Well you know what I mean, don’t you? You’re acting so… so… Oh I don’t know, you’re just being annoying!” I huff out, standing up and reaching for my T-shirt as well. 

There’s quiet for a moment, and I think my outburst will just be ignored like so many others I’ve had, but then I hear Gale sighing behind me, “What do you want me to say to you Catnip? Be careful? Congratulations?! I know for a fact that neither would go down well…”

My back is still turned to him, and I’m scowling out at the sea cursing whatever deity decided that I needed to care about whatever the fuck Gale thought. I could almost growl for the frustration of it. 

“Katniss,” Gale starts, “Where exactly is all this coming from?”

I whirl around to face him, ready to tell him all the things he should be doing right now, saying in this situation, because I have about a thousand nasty things that I could hurl at him. But I see his face and it’s asking for me to be open and honest with him, so I am, “I’m scared I’ll fuck it up, like I did before… like I did with you.” 

“Well… I can’t promise you that you won’t,” he smiles at me, “but even if you did, he’d come back to you, like I have, and like he’s done a hundred other times.”

“I don’t know, Gale, I’m pretty screwy in the head, and well, so is he. What if I do or say something that… sets him off?” 

“Well you’ve been talking to him over the phone I assume,” I nod in confirmation, “and has anything you said or done set him off on a violent rampage?” 

I shake my head, “No, but there are times when he just goes silent…”

Gale is quiet for a while, and he’s looking at me strangely, when I raise my eyebrows at him in askance, he says, “Sorry, just wondering how I got into this situation.”

I smile sheepishly and tell him, “I’m sorry, I’m such an ass.”

Gale smirks at me and says, “Now that is something we can agree on.”

“Oh, shut up,” I say playfully, but then I add in a quiet voice, “I’m sorry I couldn’t, don’t, love you the way you wanted me to,” thinking that whilst we’re at it I might as well apologise for this as well.

Gale looks at me for a few moments, seemingly contemplating what to say next, “Don’t be, having you as my friend is one of the greatest privileges of my life,” he shrugs, “And it’ll pass.”

I look at him, and I too wonder how we got here. Johanna’s words from a couple weeks prior ring in my head; You are the only one out of us Victors who got out of the war relatively unscathed. A sudden wave of nostalgia hits me, and I rush forwards to embrace him. He might not be the same kid I met all those years ago in the woods, but neither am I. I might not agree with all of his opinions, or the things he’s done, but I forgive him for it. And I need him to know this.

“I do love you though,” I say into his chest.

And like the idiot that he is, he replies, “I know.”

I look up at him in mock outrage, and he’s smiling down at me. I can see it too now; It will pass, and he will get over it. I lean my head back into his chest, smiling secretly at how glad I am that I still have him too.

—————————————————

The next weekend arrives far quicker than I would have liked, but it arrives nonetheless. The day is balmy and warm, and the walk to the station has my clothes sticking to me. I shrink into the shadows as much as I can on the platform, wanting to see him before he can see me. The unnaturally warm day seems to be getting to the people of Four as well, who are usually quite personable, they hustle and bustle around me not even looking back when they accidentally bump into me. 

I’m all jittery with nerves, and I can’t stop bouncing on the balls of my feet, twisting my fingers in my other hand. The train pulls into the station and I feel as if I might puke, I get the overwhelming urge to run before it’s too late. But then he’s stepping off the train steps, he has a small overnight bag in his hands, and he’s looking round the station for me. 

I watch him for a few seconds, take in how he’s filled out in the past few months, his blond hair a little too long on the top as it falls in his eyes. The station, so busy only a few moments before, is now emptying out as people get off the train to attend to business or board the train to be whisked off to who-knows-where. 

Finally, it looks as if it is only him and I on the platform. I step forward, off of the pillar I’ve been shrinking into, making myself more visible to him. As soon as he notices me, my heart stills in my chest. There’s no going back now. He smiles warmly at me as he comes up to greet me. Was he always this tall? I look up at him and am greeted with his startling blue eyes that seem to almost glitter in the sun.

“Hey,” he proffers.

“Hi,” I return.

We’re silent for a beat, and I rock back and forth on my feet waiting for him to do something.

“Lead the way,” he says, gesturing for me to go.

We walk in relative silence on the way back to the house, only exchanging a few words with one another as we leave the station. Otherwise I let him take it all in, District 4 is pretty different to Twelve. Architecture and landscape wise, but also in that it wasn’t hit that hard during the war. The things that were bombed, a few fisheries and a port, have long since been rebuilt. 

It’s an uphill trek towards the Village, as all Victors Villages were always built apart from the actual District. I guess in a show that Victors were no longer a part of normal District society, and should be regarded as something other.

The afternoon passes with easy chatter, and before I know it the day is cooling off from the initial midday heat. The sun is beginning to lower in the sky and I realise all we’ve done today is sit in the surf, toes in the sand, talking. I did briefly go into the water to splash around and cool off, and Peeta went in up to his waist, but refused to go any further into the constantly shifting water. 

I can already tell that the sunset will be spectacular, there’s a little bit of cloud coverage and the sun is shining brightly. My father used to say that this type of sunset is a ‘shepherd’s delight’ I have no idea what that means seeing as I never bothered to ask. 

There’s a slight lull in the conversation, and I stare wistfully out at the horizon and not for the first time since Annie asked, I wonder if there is anything out there. I start untangling my knotted damp hair and turn to Peeta who is also staring out at the sea, though I have no clue as to what he’s thinking about. 

“Have you ever wondered what else could be out there?” I ask tentatively, rousing Peeta from his thoughts. 

His brow furrows as he considers my question, “No, not really. I mean we were always told that everywhere else became uninhabitable after multiple natural disasters and nuclear war,” he recites the things that were told to us every week in class. “Why’d you ask?”

“I don’t know, just something Annie talked about when Johanna was here, I just keep on thinking that if Panem survived then maybe some other civilisation could have as well. I feel like if we ever did do some sort of… expedition, I would want to be a part of that.” As I’m saying it, I’m trying to yank my hair apart, the trouble with salty water is that it makes everything feel sticky and hair is no exception to that.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Peeta offers, holding up his hands. I shrug and hand him the knot, trying not to finch away when his hands travel conspicuously close to my throat, though I can tell that he is making his movements as deliberate as possible. We sit like that for a while, my sentiment hanging in the muggy air, whilst Peeta disentangles my hair. 

“You’re not thinking of leaving again, are you?” Peeta asks quietly.

“No, I mean if the opportunity arose, then maybe,” I murmur, “I just feel like everyone has these things going for them; Prim is studying to become a doctor, Annie has her baby, and I’m fine with helping with all that, but it’s still her baby, you know? And Gale is off doing his thing in District 2 most of the time, which I’m alright with. I’ve just sort of become his weekend hobby. I mean I’m happy for them, of course I am. It’s just I don’t have any real purpose anymore, I don’t even have to worry about bringing food to the table either, because my mother has a steady job with a steady income and then there’s still the Victor’s earnings that I get,” this is the first time I’m admitting all of this out loud, or even formalising these feelings into coherent thoughts, but I realise that this feeling of ennui has been plaguing me for some time now.

“I just, there’s no purpose for me anymore. I served my job and now I’ve just been cast off, and am expected to ‘figure it out’. How am I supposed to know what I want to do with the rest of my life?” I come to the same conclusion that Peeta must have come to before the Quell, “Nobody needs me anymore.”

I look down at my nails and start picking at them even though I’ve already bitten them down to the quick. It’s a nervous habit of mine that I just can’t seem to shake. Peeta’s fingers still in my hair as if he’s debating on something, finally he says something though, “I do, I still need you.”

I twist around to face him, and I swear if only for a second his eyes shift down to my mouth. I find myself almost subconsciously leaning towards him. I’m about six inches away when I check myself, our friendship is still fresh, and so, so precarious. There’s no space for me to mess this up with a choice that I make on a whim. I shake my head a little and move back, looking away from him in embarrassment. It’s then that I notice that the sun is about to set, and I really want Peeta to see this. In all of its glory. Because the weather here can switch from unbearable muggy heat, to thunderstorms and clouds the next day. 

I stand up, brushing the sand from me, and look down at Peeta whose eyebrows are raised in askance. “Come, there’s this really good place we can watch the sunset from.”

It’s a cliff I found in my earlier ventures of District 4’s landscape. The ground is a soft mixture of sand and mud, the grasses stand tall even when the blustering wind bends them. The sea crashes around below, as it hits the rocks and foams and sloshes around. It’s wild up here, but also oddly quiet. 

We get there just as the sun begins to dip lower and lower into the sky, staining the clouds pink and orange as it goes. I’m watching Peeta as he watches the scenery, and I can see a faint smile touch his lips. He must feel my eyes on him, because he turns to look at me and says, “I get it Katniss, I do. To keep on trying to find your place in this world, the nagging thought that you should just start over somewhere new. I understand why you think about what comes after the horizon… and if there ever is an opportunity where you get to go figure that out, I would support you.”

I look at him a little astounded by what he’s said, but wanting to forget the whole rant form before, I dismiss it with, “Yeah well even if I wanted to go, I’m not sure they’d want me. I can’t follow orders for the life of me, and I’m pretty sure that’s a trait that they’d want.”

“Ah, well I can’t disagree with that,” Peeta says teasingly.

He’s smiling down at me, and I find that I’m grinning like an idiot. I keep on wanting to tell him to watch the sunset, but I’m mesmerised by his smile and the way his eyes laugh with it. And it feels so good to know that I put that there. So, I think fuck it, and pull him down by the shoulders to kiss him fully on the mouth. 

It only lasts a mere few seconds before we break apart. Peeta is holding my jaw in his hands, and is breathing heavily, his forehead pressed against mine. And for a moment I’m scared that this was the wrong move after all. That in my attempt to make this day perfect for him, I’ve inadvertently messed it all up. 

But then he smiles again, and relief courses through my veins causing me to almost slump against him. He breathes out, “I’ve been waiting for you to do that all day, I thought I was actually going to have to ask you if you didn’t catch up on all my hints.”

I chuckle lamely, trying to think of when he dropped any hints, but before I can think too much about it, Peeta’s lips are once more brushing up against my own. It starts soft, but the kiss quickly intensifies, and I think I may have whimpered into his mouth. As Peeta sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, I think that this is right. That with the sun setting the sky ablaze, making it seem as if the world is once more on fire, this was the perfect time for Peeta and I to share this moment. 

And as I reach up to tangle my fingers into his too long hair, I know it without a doubt. That even if I did move away to Four, that even if I did sail away in search for something more, I’d come back to him. As reliable and predictable as the world coming back to life in spring, as the tides moving in and out, as the waves crashing against a shore, retreating but always returning, as the sun rising and setting, or even as simple as breathing in and out. I’d come back to him. Always. And as I come to this realisation, I know that with this knowledge, things could finally be OK.

- Fin -

[btsmosphere]

Blessing and a Curse | PJM

~summary: You are the unlukiest person you know. Park Jimin seems to be the exception to the rule. But when strange dreams start haunting you, Jimin begins to piece together the events that have followed you your whole life...

~word count: 12.7k (anyone know if this is too long for a oneshot haha)

~college!au, magic!au, fluff, angst

~Warnings: nightmares, house fire, knife injury and blood, mentioned homophobia/biphobia, swearing

~a/n: happy (almost) halloween! welcome to my new oneshot, I really hope you enjoy it! -if you’re worried about the warnings, all except the nightmares happen near the end and are probably skippable, but if you might be triggered then please be on the safe side and save this for later 💜this story isn’t primarily about those things, it’s about jimin and yn being cute hehe

In the darkness of the room, only one face is visible. A woman with age-worn skin is looking at you.

She is talking.

She is: you can see it in the way her mouth moves, but she is articulating without sound.

Your ears are plugged with water, you can hear it in the way it rumbles. Maybe that same water is what is drowning out everything else, blurring the edges of this scene. Yes, the room is dark, but surely something is in the shadows.

Why would she be here alone?

There is a fire: of that you are sure. Nothing else would light the lady’s face in a scarlet glow, deepening her wrinkles until they seem carved of wood. Only her continued movement shatters this illusion.

In the glimmering light, her eyebrows sink in the middle, fixing you with a stare.

She is approaching.

Her eyes are all you can see, a flame visible within them and they rush to you. The heat of fire is no longer merely imagined. No, you feel it crawling over you as you watch her mouth move without sound.

It can’t be water around you, because you can’t move. Fire can’t survive in water. But here it is, pinning you down, smothering you.

Maybe you are dying.

She is talking.

The woman with age-worn skin is looking at you. Only one face is visible in the darkness of the room.

The room was still dark. Something was different, you thought vaguely as you blinked.

And then suddenly, everything was different.

No face is visible.

You can hear: you cough, and the sound of it reaching your ears startles you. No water, then.

More evidence of this is the fact you can see, even in the dark, the glow that fights its way around your curtain from the street lamp outside illuminating your bedroom. You can move.

You certainly aren’t dying.

That’s a relief.

Morning comes, the streetlamp has turned off and you pay no mind to the dream hovering just out of your memory’s reach. Plenty like that have come before, and plenty will follow.

Anyway, it’s just a dream.

Now, you are more preoccupied with checking and double checking your bag. Your laptop, notebooks and folders are in there. First aid kit, check. Pencil case, check. Five memory sticks, check.

On your way to campus, you dodged a ladder leaning against a house and walked right into the path of a van splashing muddy water up your jeans. Sighing, you pulled out some tissues to dry it off as best you could, backing into a wall to get out of the splash zone again.

Of course, you backed into a pile of dog poo.

Scowling, you scraped the bottom of your shoe furiously against the pavement and hurried on.

Today was one of the rare occasions when Yoongi had arrived before you. On any normal Monday morning, he would slink in after about half an hour into class, but there he sat in the entrance hall, looking blearily round at you and licking his lips as he set his coffee down.

However, your attention was drawn away by the boy sitting with him.

Park Jimin.

As you slid into the third seat at the table, you widened your eyes at Yoongi, hoping to convey your panic.

“Hey, I was just going to grab a coffee, would you like one?” Jimin smiled at you, standing.

You swallowed, quickly turning back to him.

“Oh-um, er, no, I- it’s okay. Thank you.”

“Okay,” he smiled sweetly again and walked across to the little bar across the space.

“God, just let him buy you a coffee,” Yoongi groaned, “or do you really expect anything to happen if you never say yes?”

“They always give me shit coffee here,” you sighed, glancing back at Jimin waiting in the queue.

“You say that about everywhere,” Yoongi said. He let his head fall into his hand so it covered half his face.

“That’s because it’s true!” you protested, but he had heard it before. “What are you doing here anyway? You look half asleep.”

“Jimin dragged me,” he mumbled into his palm.

“Woe is you,” you laughed, slumping back on your seat and swinging your feet. You had given up tipping your chair long ago.

When Jimin came back, it was only to scoop up his bag before heading off to his class. That was the most you ever seemed to talk to him, as much as you would like to get to know him more. Being flatmates with your closest friend in your department saw him at plenty of the same parties, but you were too scared to approach him.

Something would go wrong.

With you, it always did. Yoongi said you were just a pessimist, which held a lot of weight coming from him.

Class went smoothly. A pen had leaked in your pencil case, and promptly ran out of ink when you tried to use it, but other than that, you came out unscathed.

It wasn’t until that afternoon that the wind picked up.

After a long day of classes, you parted ways with Yoongi to go to the library, while he left for basketball practise. Tugging your scarf tighter around you, you fought against the weather on the short walk between buildings.

On reaching your refuge, you tiptoed through the rows of books to the study area. Luckily, one last spot was left by the window, where you could see the grey clouds rolling by, the odd leaf whisking past and the branches tugged by the wind.

Smile spreading over your face, you marched towards it, setting your things down. But the moment you sat, the chair’s back leg buckled, a snap resounding through the silent space and drawing glares from the other students.

Mentally cursing, you pulled yourself up and settled for the most hidden table you could find. Sure, you could handle the dust and the flickering light in this corner.

To be fair, you did get a good amount of studying done, satisfied by the time you pulled on your scarf again and set off home.

The few trees dotted around campus creaked in the gale when you passed them. Head down against the wind, you pressed on, not looking up until you heard a familiar voice. What they were saying wasn’t quite audible, but you would recognise it anywhere. Maybe your little crush was getting a little out of hand.

Looking around, you saw Jimin with a couple of friends coming out of the gym across the courtyard.

Okay, he hadn’t seen you yet. Maybe he wasn’t coming this way?

No such luck.

Their voices drew closer, so you picked up the pace, digging your face deeper into the wool around your neck. Park Jimin was behind you, no big deal. Just don’t embarrass yourself.

But the moment you took a deep breath, a scraping sound came from above you. Frowning, you looked up distractedly. There it came again, a gravelly noise somewhere overhead. This time, though, it didn’t stop, only growing louder, and there-!

A shape, sliding off the roof, right over your head. In the blink of an eye, you scrambled to move, but your feet were caught and you tripped, inelegantly face-planting the ground as a smashing sound deafened you.

A stinging pain flared in your calf.

“Oh my god! Y/N?”

From your front-seat view of the floor, you groaned, taking a moment to close your eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Inhaling, you finally pushed yourself up to sit just as Jimin rushed up to you, his two friends close behind. Forcing a grimace, you tried to ignore your burning face as he knelt down, discarding his bag.

There, right beside your leg, lay a cracked roof tile.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, bending your leg to get a closer look. The source of the pain showed itself; your jeans were torn, a deep graze on your skin underneath where the tile must have caught you.

Beside you, Jimin’s hands hovered, twitching as he debated what to do. He watched as you twisted your ankle experimentally and winced.

“You should go to the doctor,” he told you. He was right, too. At least there was one on campus that you could hopefully reach on an injured leg-

“I’ll take you, come on,” he pushed his bag into his friend’s arms and threw yours over his own shoulder. Before you could utter a word, his shoulder was under your arm, helping you stand.

“Thank you,” you spluttered, “I-I think it should be fine though-“

Right on cue, you stood on you bad foot, which instantly gave way as you choked back a cry.

“It’s just twisted!” you exclaimed, though your full weight was pretty much weighing down on Jimin.

“Best to get it checked,” one of his friends chimed in, clapping you on the shoulder as he set off walking in the direction of the health centre.

Sighing, you gave in and allowed Jimin to help as you hobbled next to him.

“That’s Hoseok,” he said, smiling again, “and that’s Tae.”

Holding up a hand, Tae bobbed his head at you with a grin.

“Hi,” you panted.

It was likely that your attempt to return a smile failed, with the bugging pain in your ankle. Either way, Tae had turned back around now, walking beside Hoseok just ahead of you two. Before long, you had resorted to hopping. It wasn’t efficient.

“Would it be better…” Jimin said, “I mean, I could- I think I should carry you.”

Managing a weak smile, you slowed beside him. Maybe you didn’t have to go far, but it felt like a marathon at the moment.

Eyes creasing in his own smile, Jimin gently let go of your arm and stepped in front of you, crouching to let you put your arms around his neck. Surely he would be able to feel your heart hammering at your ribs, pressed up against his back like this?

If he did, he didn’t let on.

Sliding his arms behind your knees, he scooped you up and you were off at a much more reasonable speed this time.

“Tae!” he yelled.

When the black-haired boy turned around, Jimin tossed him your bag.

By some miracle, you heart had chilled out by the time you entered the doctor’s reception. Maybe a short trip on someone’s back had healing effects in itself.

You were handed an ice pack and some paperwork and told to wait. Taehyung and Hoseok said they would leave you to it, but Jimin assured you he could stay. And who were you to turn him down? This wasn’t coffee.

The silence was companiable as you sat side by side, Jimin sitting forward, elbows on his thighs while you put your feet up on a chair he had dragged over. He didn’t speak until you had nearly finished writing.

“Maybe you could sue the college,” he joked, gently nudging you with his elbow.

Laughing, you signed off the last box quickly before setting the form down and giving him your full attention.

“Thanks for staying, you didn’t have to,” you squeezed out a smile.

“Don’t worry,” he assured, “I’m just glad you’re not more hurt. It was crazy, what happened.”

“Believe it or not, that’s not the first time that’s happened to me,” you admitted. A small laugh brushed by your lips.

At your words, Jimin turned to you fully, bringing his chin off his hands. For a moment he only stared with his eyebrows raised, smile faltering, unsure if you were kidding.

“You’re being serious?”

You grimaced.

“A roof tile fell on you? More than once?”

“What are the chances, right?” you sighed, “But yeah. I’m definitely the most accident-prone person I know.”

“At least you managed to get out of the way… I thought it was going to hit your head or something,” Jimin looked genuinely terrified. You were sure your heart melted as he said this with his big eyes and such sincerity.

“If by getting out of the way you mean falling on my face,” you smiled softly.

Thankfully, he saw the funny side and laughed along with you, shaking his head and sitting back. You were glad the worry had left his face.

Only one other person sat in the waiting room, a mother holding a small baby, who now turned around to glare at the pair of you, although were only laughing quietly. Either way, you both closed your mouths, noticing her child was asleep.

A screaming baby was not something you wanted to add to this situation.

“So… what do you study?” you muttered after the woman turned back around in her chair.

“Protective magic,” Jimin dazzled you again with his smile, “it’s my second year now.”

“Same,” you replied, “well, as in, I’m in second year too, but I’m not gifted. I’m doing literature.”

“With Yoongi, right?”

“Oh, yeah, of course you knew that,” you laughed, but you were cringing inside. Time to change topic. “But, umm, what’s your favourite part of your course?”

Magic was definitely fascinating to you, even though you weren’t gifted with powers and therefore were unable to study it. Less than half the population had magic, so it was just your luck to be in the boring majority.

“I’m enjoying studying curses,” Jimin was saying, “last year was mainly the basics, warding and stuff like that, so it’s nice to do something more interesting.”

“It sounds really cool,” you agreed, “I’m so jealous, I didn’t get any of my first-choice modules.”

Just as Jimin opened his mouth to respond, a doctor called your name.

“Ah,” Jimin stood, raising his hand to alert the doctor you were there as you struggled to your feet. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

“If that’s okay?”

Gladly accepting his arm for the second time that day, you let Jimin help you over to the doctor and followed her down the hallway to her office. As she checked you over, Jimin sat patiently behind you. Your frequent glances at him were definitely less surreptitious than you intended, but he didn’t seem to mind, smiling reassuringly when you caught his eye.

In the end, she bandaged up the graze and ordered you to avoid using your ankle as much as you could for a couple of days. You had just avoided spraining it, so it would be fine.

“How are you getting home?” she asked you, not looking at you as she typed up her notes.

“Oh, uh-“ you stuttered. You hadn’t thought of that. Walking all the way home would be too far when you could barely make the walk from the waiting room.

“-I’m driving her,” Jimin spoke.

Snapping your mouth shut, you stared round at him.

“Excellent,” the doctor smiled before you could say anything. She spun back to you in her chair, “that should be all. Remember to rest it, I’m sure your friend will help you out.”

Quietly smiling and thanking her, you hobbled out beside Jimin. Outside the door, he lifted you onto his back again for the short walk to the parking lot.

By car, your house was barely ten minutes away, but you chatted some more to Jimin. As he reached your street and you pointed out where he could stop, you were startled by how fast it seemed. You found yourself not wanting him to leave.

Who knew that completely embarrassing yourself in front of your crush could end up to be a good thing?

To your delight, he insisted on piggy-backing you up the stairs as well, somehow not even breaking a sweat, and waited with you at the door as you slid the key in.

“KOOK!” you yelled as you pushed the door open, but to your surprise, he had already left his room and was walking down the hall towards you.

On seeing Jimin next to you, arm around your waist, he stopped abruptly and his eyes widened. But then his eyes travelled down to your leg, bandage poking from the bottom of your jeans, and he relaxed.

“This is Jimin,” you offered, hopping over the threshold as Kook approached again, quick to slide his arm around your other side.

“Hi,” he nodded at Jimin, “thanks.”

Jimin, who let you go as it became clear Kook could take it from here, handed over your bag as well.

“Good to meet you,” he beamed, “see you, Y/N.”

From your position propped up against your roommate, you waved at him. Too soon he was gone, door falling shut behind him.

“is that the Jimin?” Jungkook stage-whispered.

“Yes…” you sighed, hiding your face in his shoulder and ignoring his excited eyes.

“Come on,” you felt the rumble of his laughter through you as he pushed you off him and pulled you down the corridor, “Jin-hyung! Y/N hurt herself again!”

“Kook…” you grumbled in vain.

The moment he dropped you ungracefully onto the sofa, Jin hurried in, already clutching a first aid bag. Seeing his concerned face, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s okay, I already went to the doctor.”

“Aish,” he moaned, “how do you manage to get hurt so much?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you whined, “really.”

You met his eyes as he ditched the medical kit by the sofa. Sighing, he gave you a smile which you returned. You knew he worried too much.

“She was probably distracted,” Jungkook piped up from behind the kitchen counter which divided your space. The warning look you shot him wasn’t enough to quiet him though, you could see the mischievous grin on his face.

“Jeon Jungkook-” you hissed.

“-making doe-eyes at Jim- ow!”

“Y/N!” Jin cried, snatching you and Jungkook’s attention, “give me that.”

Marching across the space, he scooped up the book you had launched at the younger boy and tucked it under his arm. Then a smile slid onto his face, letting the two of you relax. He wasn’t really mad.

“So Jimin?” he grinned.

Shoving a cushion over your face, you groaned, Jin’s laughter loud in your ears.

Yoongi offered to drive you into college before you had even told him you were injured. Jimin must have told him what happened when he got home.

What you didn’t expect was to see your saviour again this early in the morning. You looked a mess in all honesty, hair messy and most lazy clothes shoved on to accommodate your bandaged leg. Sleep hadn’t been on your side last night, and the dream had come again, but until now you didn’t care.

Now, as Jimin gave up shotgun for you with a radiant smile, you regretted your lie in.

“Are you definitely okay to walk?” he eyed you worriedly as you limped over to them.

After the inevitable teasing last night, Jin and Jungkook had cooked for you and let you pick a film so you could keep you leg up with ice. As a result it did feel much better, and you told him as much.

“I’m glad,” Jimin smiled.

You were too busy smiling back to catch Yoongi rolling his eyes.

The room was dark… the old woman was looking at you…

As the fire danced and flickered below her, she spoke to you, but you were still deaf to her words.

Come to think of it, she looked like she was shouting.

Had you upset her?

A hand entered your vision, the woman’s hand, gnarled with age and dappled with firelight.

She was reaching out…

No.

She was pointing at you.

“Y/N! Hey!”

Your whole body jolted as a foot hit your leg. It took a moment for the pain to even register as you blinked, head falling off the hand it rested on.

As you looked up, opening your mouth to complain, your eyes met with Yoongi’s. He had a strange expression on his face.

Frowning, you looked around. The lecture was still going on.

“Sorry,” you whispered, “didn’t sleep well.”

Turning away from Yoongi, you found a group of boys behind you quickly tearing their eyes away. Their snickering whispers followed you even when you turned your back on them. But though you hunched over your work, fully intent on achieving tunnel-vision to your notebook, Yoongi didn’t share your intention.

“Hey,” he murmured, digging his knee into your leg until you acknowledged him. You were greeted with the same piercing stare from before. “You okay?”

Shoulders slumping, you sighed.

“Yeah…”

“You don’t look so good.”

“Thanks Yoongi,” you rolled your eyes at his bluntness, “just tired-“

“You were dreaming,” he informed you.

You blinked.

“Sorry?”

“You were kind of… twitching,” he grimaced, “that’s why they were laughing at you. Was it a nightmare?”

Blankly staring back at him, you tried to recall your dream. Once you were awake, it always left your mind like sand through a sieve, but when you thought about it…

“It’s just a dream I keep having,” you shook your head, “it’s why I couldn’t get much sleep last night.”

His eyebrows creased, but the sudden commotion that rumbled into life around you told you class was over. And you had missed most of it. Just your luck.

Sluggishly, you packed your things away. Just as you slung your bag over one shoulder, your phone buzzed in your pocket. Slipping it out as you pushed your chair in with your thigh, you saw two messages from Yoongi.

Pictures of his lecture notes.

Fondly smiling, you looked to your friend as he shut his book and slid his own things into his bag.

As usual, Yoongi walked with you after classes were done. Except today, when you parted ways, he made you promise to meet him in time to drive home. Usually you would spend longer in the library, but you could easily check out something to work on at home.

Yoongi’s earlier lecture notes mentioned some extra reading, so you decided to go and find the books to make up for being unconscious during the class itself.

Heading towards the classics section once you were inside, you heard Jimin before you saw him.

A loud thump made you wince, evidently the sound of a fallen book. Unable to help your curiosity, you leaned around the corner to the aisle it came from.

There, Jimin’s blond hair was just visible over a mound of books balanced in his arms, some tucked under his elbows, and a couple more trapped between his hip and the bookshelves.

“Jimin?”

You were already striding towards him, hurriedly grabbing for the books in the most precarious position.

“Thank you,” a muffled voice reached your ears as Jimin was finally able to step away from the shelf without fear of dropping any more.

“Um… what are you doing?” you asked incredulously as you hastily shoved the books onto a shelf, soon reaching out to start dismantling the pile in his arms.

“I had spare credits,” he spoke as you removed the books that blocked out his face, “so I’ve ended up taking Mythology of Magic. I thought I should do some reading…”

Laughing, you turned over the book in your hand. Woozle the Warlock and other stories.

“And you didn’t want to be any more selective?”

As you tugged the books from under his arm, Jimin looked down at his shuffling feet.

“I’ve never had to read fiction for my course, so I don’t really know where to start.”

“Well, I took that module last year,” you smiled, “trust me, there are a few books Professor Bang really relies on, but other than that there aren’t too many you should know.”

“Really?”

Jimin’s eyes were so hopeful. His smile had returned, and you were happy you could give him a positive answer.

“Would you like me to help you?” you ventured.

His enthusiastic nod made your heart leap.

“Right, well-“ you turned to the shelves to scan for the books you needed, absently pushing a couple more books onto a random shelf. Jimin followed suit, now having his hands free enough to make use of them.

“Jimin?”

The book you had just laid eyes on was lost as you jumped around, finding one of the librarians at the end of the shelves.

“Joon! Y/N’s gonna help me with Mythology!” Jimin greeted the man enthusiastically, but his eagerness was not returned.

“What’s going on?” the man called Joon asked.

Guiltily glancing at the shelves Jimin had pillaged, it became clear they were nowhere near orderly anymore.

“Jimin, this is going to take me ages, you know I have a date tonight!” Joon was busy complaining.

“Sorry Joon,” Jimin sighed, “do you want me to sort it?”

“Please. I’ll come and check you’re doing it right in a while,” Joon agreed, “Y/N will just have to help you later.”

“Sorry,” you piped up, looking at Jimin, “Yoongi’s giving me a lift home.”

“Then you can come to ours!” Joon startled you by clapping his hands together. He looked thrilled, but you were still confused.

“Ah, sorry Y/N,” Jimin said, “this is Namjoon. He lives with me and Yoongi.”

“Oh! Nice to meet you,” you said.

“You too,” Namjoon smiled, “I best get back to work.”

Before he left, he sent a dimpled smirk over to Jimin.

“Do you want some help?” you asked Jimin, the two of you staring at the mess of books, a couple still lying on the floor.

“No, please go and sit down,” he told you, “the doctor told you to rest.”

He was right, so you gave in.

Later on, you glanced at the clock. You didn’t want to be late for Yoongi when he was being so nice to you. Fifteen minutes were left, luckily, so you turned back to your work.

Next time you checked, fifteen minutes were left.

Wait.

That was the same as last time!

Now you thought about it, it might have said the same time when you checked it before that too.

Oh no.

Scrambling for your phone, you saw you were already more than five minutes late. As quick as humanly possible, you rammed everything into your bag and fled. You still had to check out Jimin’s books, so you dashed across to the machines to take them out.

Toe tapping on the ground, you waited behind the guy already using the last monitor, praying Yoongi wouldn’t be mad. You decided to send him a quick text.

You: On my way, sorry :)

Yoongi: Be quick

Just then, the man in front of you turned around, setting off briskly away from the station with coffee in hand. There was only one problem. You were in the way.

He crashed into you before you had even looked up, and warm liquid was already seeping through your top.

In your shock, your phone fell from your hand, straight into the puddle of coffee on the floor. Both of you just stood there for a second, mouths agape.

“Oh my gosh, sorry!” you garbled, at the same moment as he pushed past you, muttering something about standing in the way. Perfect.

Looking down at the bundle of books in your arms, it was clear they were ruined. Coffee was dripping off them, the edges of the pages already brown. Taking a breath, you bent down to retrieve your phone, not bothering to check it just yet. You had to get to Yoongi first.

In the end, you checked the books out anyway, knowing you might be able to tell your tragic tale to your new acquaintance Namjoon, thinking perhaps he could get you out of a fine.

Stepping outside, you were soon greeted with Jimin coming around the corner.

“Y/N! Yoongi sent me to go and fetch you- what happened?” he had stopped in his tracks. You didn’t have to be a genius to know your top was ruined, coffee clinging uncomfortably to your skin from the saturated fabric.

“Some guy spilled coffee on me,” you explained, carrying on towards the parking lot, “and my phone, and the books…”

Looking to the side to check he was following, you jumped. Jimin’s head had disappeared into his sweater as he pulled it over his head, shirt riding up as he did so. When he emerged you snapped your head away.

You tried to reject the hoodie as he held it out to you, knowing you would soak it through with coffee as well, but he insisted. It was black after all, it wouldn’t show up, and people were staring at you. Since you usually left campus later, it was busier than you were accustomed to.

Eventually taking the proffered jumper, you basked in its softness, thanking him with a smile.

Since you went home to study with Jimin, Jungkook and Jin had been insufferable, knowing about your crush. You told them they were lucky you loved them already, or you would kick them out.

Not if they kicked you out first, they said.

You laughed and told them you could just move in with Jimin. Needless to say, that made it worse.

In all fairness, you spent a lot of time with Jimin now. You regretted being too scared to ever talk to him before, since you actually got on really well. Helping him study had been fun, and you had been over more times since then, for studying but also for dinner and movie nights that Namjoon and Yoongi loved to crash.

You discovered all of them wanted to go to the Halloween festival, just like you.

October was halfway done, and that meant the excitement was well and truly underway. Every year on the weekend of Halloween, there was a festival just outside the city with music, haunted houses, campfires and ghost stories. And, of course, plenty of beer. Everyone wanted to go.

That week, you sat down with your own flatmates to put your names in for the festival. Due to its popularity among students, the festival always picked its attendees at random.

Since things were going well with Jimin, you had shed your pessimistic mindset a little. Maybe things didn’t always go wrong when you were around.

But then you didn’t get tickets.

And of course, Jungkook and Jin did.

You were more disappointed than you were when the same thing happened last year. For once, you had actually had your hopes up.

At least they were as sad about it as you. And it meant they went out on a dedicated shopping trip to get you a load of candy; it made both parties feel a bit better about you being left alone at the weekend.

When you had last spoken to Jimin about the festival, you found out he had gone last year. The next time you saw him after the bad news came at the weekend, you walked into uni to find him alone at the table you usually shared with Yoongi.

“Hey,” he smiled, “Yoongi’s just getting coffee.”

“Ah,” you nodded knowingly. You were quite happy to have Jimin to yourself for the moment.

It was only when Yoongi came back with two coffees that you sensed something was up. He never bought coffee for other people. Eyebrows furrowed, you watched as he set one down in front of Jimin.

Eager to take a sip, neither boy noticed you staring at them with something akin to horror until they rose from the rims of their cups.

“What’s going on?” you demanded when you caught Jimin’s eye.

“Sympathy coffee,” Jimin chuckled, “I didn’t get Halloween tickets.”

“Oh no, that sucks,” you sighed, “I didn’t either.”

“Hey, that could be good!” Jimin placed his drink down, “we could do something on Halloween instead?”

“Okay!” you agreed, “movies or something?”

“Great, let’s do it,” Jimin grinned, “beats sitting inside getting jealous of Joon and Yoongi.”

And so it was agreed, and you found yourself walking over to Jimin’s house on Halloween. Any other Saturday night, the city’s streets would be thrumming with life, groups of students holding each other up as they stumbled out, already drunk.

Today, though, it seemed like the entire student population was on the other side of town except you.

Mind wandering to your friends, you wondered how the festival was. Next year was your final chance to go. You hoped you could. They would probably be trekking through the horror maze, before dark so Jin wouldn’t get too scared. Or maybe Jungkook had got out his guitar for the campfire circle. You wondered what kinds of sugary food they would fill themselves with.

It was a nice evening for whatever was going on, being unusually warm for this time of year. You hadn’t even needed a coat to go out.

Jin’s cooking was sorely missed especially; you were something of a disaster on your own given your clumsiness. You swore you did exactly what the recipe said, but every time without fail, something went wrong.

Reaching Jimin’s, you happily let thoughts of what you were missing slide. Your bad luck had afforded you good fortune this time around, and you were determined to make the most of it.

Inside, you emptied all the snacks you had brought out of your bag and stared at the mountain you had collectively built on the coffee table.

“I guess we had better get started,” you laughed.

“We’re never going to eat all that!” Jimin laughed, flopping down on the sofa.

Sitting as well, you picked up your first chocolate and sent him a smirk.

“Challenge accepted.”

As anyone could have predicted, you failed the challenge. Before the first film had even ended, you slumped against Jimin with a groan, stomach threatening to burst. His melodic laugh filled your ears. You only groaned more, staring at the empty wrappers surrounding you before closing your eyes.

What you didn’t expect was for Jimin to reach his arm around you.

Eyes snapping open again, you saw his hands pulling your blanket up, but his arm didn’t move away. Well, perhaps your optimistic eating habits had landed you something good, after all.

The film ended, but you didn’t move away. Nor did he push you off.

“What next?” he looked down at you.

You found yourself a lot closer to his face than you were prepared for when you looked up at him, head pulling away from its place on his shoulder.

“Horror film?” you suggested with a small smile once you had recovered.

He threw his head back and laughed, but he did pick up the remote and start scrolling through the horror films.

“This should be fun,” he smiled, shaking his head slightly.

It was.

Well, maybe not the ghosts and blood and murderers and jumpscares.

But it sure was fun when Jimin clutched you in both of his arms, or when you pressed closer to him to hide your face away in his chest. When he screamed and grabbed at you, hiding his face away in the top of your head, you swore your heart stopped for a moment.

“We are not watching a horror film next time,” Jimin decreed afterwards, “or ever again!”

“Next Halloween?” you laughed.

He rolled his eyes.

“Maybe.”

Your grin wasn’t because he agreed with you. It was because he thought you would be with each other again next Halloween.

Reluctantly, the two of you untangled yourselves from the blankets. On your way out, you told him to keep the candy, and that you could never look at another one again.

“Sure,” he smirked, “text me when you get home okay.”

“Will do, thanks.”

After a beat, you stepped back through the doorway and gave him a quick hug. Wrapping his arms around you in return, he laughed.

“Don’t have nightmares!”

“No promises!” you laughed, waving at him as you walked away.

By this time it was dark, but your route back was along main roads, so you weren’t worried. However, you had barely reached the end of Jimin’s road before you felt flecks of drizzle dotting your face.

You picked up the pace, but there was still a while to go. You were never going to outrun the rain.

It wasn’t the first time you had been caught out by a storm, but it made it no more enjoyable. Halfway home, the rain was hammering down, stinging your cheeks with the force it fell. The sky above was a solid mass of cloud, regularly disturbed by thunder.

You were most certainly alone on the streets now, everyone having retreated inside. You just had to push on a little longer, and then you could have a hot shower and warm up in your pyjamas with a hot chocolate.

Cursing yourself for not bringing a coat earlier, you hugged yourself as you marched against the rain which was now dripping down your face, hair plastered to your cheeks.

On reaching your apartment, you broke into a run. Stopping outside the door, you fished for your keys in your pocket.

Nothing.

Chest tightening, you quickly pushed your hand into your other pocket. Your phone was still there, but no keys. Quickly, you patted your jeans to no success. Your bag was just as empty. Where were your keys?

Ever since the coffee incident in the library, your phone had never been quite the same, but you nearly cried in relief when you clicked the power button and it flashed on.

Leaning your head over to shield it from the worst of the rain, although you were also dripping onto it, your cold fingers fumbled to your contacts until you reached Jimin. No one else you knew was in the city.

Pressing call, you held the device to your ear, dial tone beeping over the drumming of the rain.

The tone cut off, and you waited to hear Jimin’s voice.

But it didn’t come.

“Hello?” you spoke.

No reply.

On pulling the phone from your ear, you stared at a dark screen. This time, when you pressed the power button, it was unresponsive.

Great.

Begrudgingly turning around, you sighed heavily. You fingers were already draining themselves of feeling, every inch of your jumper soaked.

But then, a couple of streets further, you spotted something glittering by the pavement. Your keyring!

Dashing towards it, you didn’t care when your fingers scraped against the cold metal of a drain, grabbing your keys as soon as you could. But when you held them up, you could only stare.

You were definitely the unluckiest person you knew.

The keyring charm itself was intact, but the same could not be said for the mangled metal that hung off it, which had been snapped. No key remained.

Looking back to the ground where you had collected it, you could only see dark tarmac. No key. And below the drain your keyring had been lying on was a torrent of rushing water from the storm.

You were well and truly fucked, only one option left.

Your third journey that night down the roads to Jimin’s was significantly less enjoyable than before. Even your shoes were soaked now and you were shivering from head to toe. It really wasn’t the way you wanted Jimin to see you, looking like a rat that had crawled up from the gutter, but you had nowhere else to go.

Finally reaching Jimin’s road, you were surprised to see his door fly open when you were still halfway down the street, spilling yellow light into the dark. You frowned even more when you saw him step out, wrapped in a raincoat, practically tripping down his own steps before looking around.

Closer now, you were able to catch his attention as you approached. He only stared at you, his adorable face the very picture of shock, before he ran up to you.

“Y/N oh my god! The moment this storm started I got worried, and when I saw a missed call from you I didn’t know what to do! What happened? Are you alright?”

“C-cold,” you said through chattering teeth.

“Shit, yeah, let’s get you back inside,” he grabbed your hand and pulled you with him. If only you could feel where his hand held yours.

Just across the threshold, you held back, knowing you were already soaking the ground.

“Y/N, you’re freezing, please come in,” Jimin pulled you into the living room, not that you could resist when you felt the warmth of his house greet you.

Realising you hadn’t even removed your shoes, you bent to undo your waterlogged laces, but your fingers were uncooperative.

“Here,” Jimin knelt too. You watched as his fingers deftly released your laces, and you let him slide your shoes off. His face was flushed, slightly damp too from his short trip outside.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, sitting back and reaching for you jumper.

Together, you peeled the garment off you, heavy with water.

“I’ll get you some clothes,” he said firmly, “you’re staying here.”

Beyond the window, the rain had not let up.

“Okay.”

Making quick work of the rest of your clothes in the bathroom, you left them in a pile on the shower floor. Jimin had luckily left a towel on the radiator. Wrapped up in the warm fluff, you barely wanted to move, but eventually Jimin’s clothes, folded on the floor, tempted you enough.

Emerging fully dressed in the too-big clothes, you found Jimin stumbling down the stairs. Or rather, a moving pile of blankets.

“Any better?” his eyes peeked over the top, making it impossible for you not to laugh.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Following him into the living room, you stepped over the wet patches you had created as Jimin dropped the blankets onto the sofa.

“So what happened?” he clambered into the makeshift nest, patting the blankets beside him for you to follow suit.

“My keys found their way down a storm drain,” you sighed, “but I didn’t notice until I got home. And then my phone gave up.”

You let out a dry laugh. It really was ridiculous how the world seemed to be against you.

“Would hot chocolate make it better?”

Your eyes and mouth grew simultaneously and Jimin laughed loudly, head flopping back and soft hair falling away from his face. Anyone would have thought he had just given you a bag of lottery winnings by the way you looked at him.

“Yes, I take it?” he giggled.

Maybe the world was against you, but Jimin was the one thing that made everything better. Sitting next to him surrounded by blankets and sipping cocoa could only be made better if you weren’t just sitting next to him.

As if to prove his place as your personal saviour, Jimin soon snuggled closer to you.

After a few minutes of his head on your shoulder, your arm around him, you whispered into his hair.

“Maybe tonight was lucky in the end.”

“Hmm?” he twisted to look at you and your heart softened even more when you saw his eyes were barely open. Smiling giddily, you pulled back to look at him.

“I just always thought bad things happened to me. But it’s not so bad ending up here with you.”

A hand scrubbed over his face in an effort to wake up a little more. Embarrassment already began to encroach as you watched his mouth opening and closing. Had you said too much?

And then he shuffled closer, all those thoughts dissipating like dandelion seeds as his hand brushed your cheek. His lips lay in a peaceful smile, and you couldn’t take your eyes away as he silently shuffled closer.

“Yeah?” he breathed.

“Yeah,” you nodded, sound barely leaving your mouth.

Then his lips met yours.

It wasn’t forceful, quite the opposite. The kind of kiss that made you lean in for more, sweet and lingering, erasing any memory of what existed outside of it. Now his soft touch felt so real, so present and so… Jimin.

Hands ghosted across skin, hungry but tentative.

Time got lost around you as you gave in, indulging in each other until you lay on top of him, breathless as you paused. His eyes were smiling. He was always smiling.

Unable to believe Park Jimin kissed you, wanted you too, you stared at him, trying to soak it all in.

Another laugh passed his lips, joy overflowing. His arms tightened around your waist, squeezing you tightly against his chest, and a kiss was pressed to your forehead.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

You had to look back at his face then, just to check those words had actually passed his lips.

“Yes!”

The room was familiar, even though it was dark. Nothing could be seen but you knew you had been here before.

The woman had not moved. Was she still angry?

For the first time, the fire shows itself as more than just a glimmer lighting the wisened face. No, it is there, bright and dancing.

Taunting.

You can’t look away but it burns your eyes. That is not all it burns.

The woman’s hand reaches out, engulfed in the fire, and suddenly your silence bursts.

The fire is deafening, cracking like a monster walking on bones, roaring in its pain. Maybe the darkness is the smoke. It gets in your eyes, but you still can’t look away, can’t blink, and beyond the red beast, the woman in still there, voice finally loud and strong, surfacing in the brief moments through the blazing fire.

You can’t understand her.

But you understand she is not a friend. You know from the way her hand rises from the fire unscathed. She must be a friend to the fire, but the fire is hurting you.

You can’t move.

You can’t look away.

Smoke is in your lungs, fire clings to your skin.

You can’t scream but you need to, you need to get out of here, but no one knows you’re here, you don’t even know where here is, or how you got here, but it hurts, and she only wants to hurt you more, and-

Someone is shouting but it’s not her this time and it cuts through the fire. Then it stops and you fall back, darkness and blinding fire side by side-

“Y/N!”

Hands on your shoulder. The room is dark. Where is the smoke? Breath judders in and out of your throat. You cough. The hands draw back. The fire is gone too.

A dim light flicks on and Jimin looks at you. Propped on his elbow, he looks down at you where you lie on the pillow, other hand coming up to stroke down your face. You were used to waking up like this, alone, but now he was there and all you wanted was his warmth.

When you dived towards him, he folded you in his arms, holding you close as you breathed in his safety.

“You okay?” he spoke into the stillness.

At first, you nodded into his chest. Then you thought he might want a bit more detail about why you had woken him in the middle of the night, so you lifted your head. Nose-to-nose on the pillow, you explained.

“It’s this dream I keep having,” you whispered, “I always forget about it after, but it keeps coming back. It was… different, today.”

“What happens in the dream?” a delicate crease formed between Jimin eyebrows.

“I’m in a dark room…” your eyes wandered to the air by his ear as you tried to picture it, “there’s this woman there. And she’s always saying something, but I can never hear. And there’s a fire. Today she made the fire grow, and I could hear her for once, but I still didn’t understand what she was saying.”

“Strange…” he murmured.

“I know,” you sighed, shuffling closer to him under the duvet, “but let’s go back to sleep.”

“Not until I kiss you better,” he smirked, voice still husky with sleep as he rolled you over and planted more perfect kisses to your lips.

Quickly circling your arms and legs around him, you eagerly reciprocated. Your bodies fit together so well, both defying sleep as the kisses continued between your smiling mouths until the dream was well and truly gone from your mind.

In the morning, your phone seemed to have resurrected itself from where it was charging at the wall, and it decided to announce this loudly to Jimin’s entire apartment. Both stirring at the same time when the ringtone blasted across the room, you extricated yourselves from each other.

Jimin reached across for his own phone, groaning when he saw that it was already eleven and promptly flopping back onto the bed. You, on the other hand, abandoned the comfort of the warm bed in favour of making whoever was calling shut up.

However, just as you reached your phone, it fell silent anyway.

Opening it and scrolling through the notifications, you found it was Jungkook who had phoned. You had used Jimin’s phone to text them in the end yesterday, and they said they would come back from the festival early to let you in, so you supposed he was back.

Taking it off charge, you opened Jungkook’s messages, of which there were several from last night.

Before you could read them, though, Jimin’s ringtone started up. Looking up, you admired his muscular back as he twisted to pick it up.

“It’s Jin,” he frowned, looking to you.

Sitting back on the bed, you just shrugged.

“Hello?” Jimin greeted.

He was leaning back on one arm, but as he listened to whatever Jin was saying, he sat forwards, face growing serious.

“O-okay, yeah,” he said.

Startling you, he pushed the covers aside and pulled his wardrobe open, one hand still occupied with the phone. When he had pulled out a random pair of jeans and a shirt, he turned to you. He crossed the room rapidly, holding out the phone for you to take.

You stared between his face and the phone, then shook yourself and hurriedly took it.

“Jin?”

“Y/N, we just got back… I think you should probably come here.”

“Okay, we can come soon, what’s going on?”

“Um, well…” for a moment your heart froze as he paused, fearing what might be wrong. Jungkook could be heard faintly in the background.

“Are you still there? Jin?”

“There was a fire.”

Now it was your turn to be silent. You were aware that your boyfriend was undressing right behind you, but all you could do was sit still.

“What?” you choked.

“Listen, don’t worry, it’s going to be okay-“

“How bad?”

Another pause from Jin, and you knew he didn’t want to say.

“Most of the apartment is fine, it’s just your room…” you heard the soft creak of your sofa as he sat heavily, “just come here, okay? We’ll sort something out.”

“Y-yeah. See you soon.”

Shakily, you stood. Jimin was fully dressed, car keys already in hand.

It was exactly like Jin had said, but that still didn’t make it any better.

You knocked on the door, greeted with a lingering hug from Jin. He always gave those kind of hugs, like he was trying to hold you together with his own arms. From the outside, your place looked the same, but you could already see black streaks on the wall as you looked down the corridor, where Jungkook nervously licked and bit his lip alternately.

Yoongi and Namjoon were also there, trying very hard to blend into the wall. They took the first chance they could to join Jimin by the door as you stepped past them all towards your room.

Black seeped around the edges of your door. You felt numb as you pushed against it, swinging it open to reveal an unrecognisable space. Everything was completely ravaged by the fire, curtains hanging from the pole in rags, dark debris covering the floor and furniture stained darker than it was ever meant to be.

Your feet disturbed the dust of what was once yours, carrying you further into the wreckage.

Until a hand landed on your shoulder, you simply stood, paralysed. But then Jimin was next to you and you broke into his arms.

“The firefighters were here this morning when we got back,” Jin said, “they told us a candle set fire to your curtain and it started from there.”

You nodded.

That’s all you had been doing for a while since the lot of you had camped out in the living room back at Jimin’s. You had been huddled against him ever since as your flatmates made calls to the landlord, insurance, repair services and so on.

It wasn’t too severely damaged.

That’s what the general consensus was, and you could go back to living there after a couple of days unless any complications were found as they cleaned up the house. But for you, it was different. It was your stuff that had burned.

Even the photos in the hallway that burned, the only victims of the flames that had escaped your room, were all of you. For the thousandth time, you questioned if someone out there really hated you so much.

At least your friends didn’t.

They hadn’t expected anything of you, letting you stay silent and sorting everything out. Now that all anyone could do was wait, a lazy day was declared and the blankets made a return appearance.

Jimin invited his friends Tae and Hoseok, who were apparently also friends with his flatmates, and Jin went shopping with Namjoon, insisting on cooking later.

You had to admit, being surrounded by Jimin and your friends did lift your spirits. Taehyung and Jungkook had instantly hit it off, goofing around as crap TV played in the background. All the sweets you had failed to eat the night before came in especially useful for such a big group.

Jin’s food was excellent as always, and you had recovered enough by dinner time to notice something different about your friend.

“Did you see my messages last night?” Jungkook whispered, digging his elbow into you. You squealed, but he shushed you, looking around at the others.

It was getting dark, and you had all piled together for a film (not horror).

When the others’ eyes left you, you glared at your youngest friend.

“I didn’t. What is it?”

Beside you, Jimin’s arm tightened around your waist as he leaned forwards, resting his chin on your shoulder to hear Jungkook too.

“Yeah Kook, what is it?” he chuckled.

“Jin-hyung was on date!” Kook’s big eyes sparkled with excitement as you sat forward with a start, evicting Jimin from his spot on your shoulder.

“What?!” you whisper-shouted.

“I know!”

Spluttering for something to say, you grabbed Kook’s hands as you both bounced up and down on the sofa, Jimin hiding laughter behind his hand at the two of you.

“Who was it? How did you find out? Did he like them? Ohmygod!” you rambled.

Jungkook laughed, but supressed it quickly, smile full to bursting as he leaned forwards, barely containing himself.

“Namjoon-hyung,” he whispered.

Now Jimin’s eyes bulged from his head along with you.

“Oh my god.”

Satisfied with your reactions, Jungkook giggled as you and Jimin exchanged looks.

“Hush, you lot. And I would be careful – Jin and I are not the only ones who seem to have got up to something this weekend.”

Three pairs of wide eyes turned towards Namjoon, who was right beside Jungkook. He simply snorted a laugh, dimples making an appearance as he turned back to the film without another word.

You stayed quiet after that.

Jimin had to admit, your pessimism seemed to be justified.

From a roof tile falling on you, people spilling coffee on you, your keys vanishing mysteriously on the very night your apartment caught fire, unlucky would be an understatement. Now he sat in the library, mind drifting back to all the time he had known you.

The first time you had come round to study, he remembered staring in surprise at all your memory sticks. You kept so many on you, as well as saving your work onto enough clouds to make a storm, on top of keeping notes on paper.

Perhaps you weren’t just disorganised as you claimed. In fact, you seemed extremely organised, but you insisted your documents went missing all the time.

He placed down another book on the growing pile beside him, pulling the next one out.

When he had taken you back to your room after the fire, he sadly placed a row of charred pot plants in a bin bag. They were all dead anyway, you had said, I can never keep them alive.

Yoongi had come to the library too, under the guise of studying. If studying consisted of forcing Namjoon to let him into the staff room for unlimited coffee, then he was being very productive.

But when Jimin confessed his fears, Yoongi had also told him about you dreaming in class.

Only a few passing paragraphs had struck him as relevant so far in his quest for research, and the sky was already dimming outside. Only a couple more books sat on his left side, the books he hadn’t read yet. Sighing in defeat, he placed yet another book across to the right and pulled the largest tome yet over to him.

This one didn’t look like it had been touched in years, leather binding groaning as he heaved it open, coughing at the dust that spewed from its pages. But finally, he saw something promising in the contents.

Turning the yellowed pages, he reached his destination, instantly knowing from the illustrations that this was it. A full moon, just like the one outside the library window. A wilted plant. A spider-web of swirling black smoke.

Eyes devouring the words on the page, he eventually sat back. For a moment, he looked at the thin air in front of him, swallowing hard.

Then he sprung into action, pulling out his phone and snapping photos of the book. It shut heavily in another cloud of dust, and then it was away on the shelf and Jimin’s thumb was hovering over your contact as he rushed to his flatmates at the desk.

“I’ve found it!”

Namjoon mumbled something that sounded a lot like finally as Yoongi turned away from him towards Jimin. He was already calling you, wanting to meet up to share his findings.

The ringtone stopped, and he opened his mouth to greet you, only for your voicemail to speak first.

Brow creasing, he pulled his phone away and hung up, pressing call again.

Nothing.

“What is it?” Yoongi asked, but Jimin was looking past him. The moon hung so innocently in the sky, but Jimin’s veins were turning to ice.

“We have to go. Now.”

The week following such an eventful Halloween had been a blur. You were pretty sure tonight was the first time you had been alone since that night.

Jungkook was at home with his family for his brother’s birthday, Jin working late at the restaurant.

Jimin had been working in the library all day with his flatmates too, leaving you at your newly repaired house all by yourself. As per a yearly tradition, Jin had salvaged some pumpkins from his work that were due to be thrown out when pumpkin pie left the menu, but you were the only one around to carve them at the moment.

But you were bored. And there were plenty, too many if you were honest, and you were always terrible, so it wouldn’t hurt to practise before Jimin had to witness your shocking pumpkin art skills.

And this was how you ended up in the middle of a storm of pumpkin innards in your kitchen, wonky face leering from the unfortunate vegetable behind you as you looked around at the mess.

Having already slipped over once on the orange goo, you decided cleaning up took priority over improving your artistry. Setting the knife down, you bent down and scooped up the largest clump, a few seeds falling from your hands as you shuffled over to the bin on your knees.

Pushing your hair behind your ear and leaving a sticky orange clump while you were at it, you leaned across to another patch, right at the base of the counter.

But as you stretched out your fingers, a shape fell down your vision. Before you could even blink, you felt a sharp, stabbing pain in your arm as metal clattered to the tile.

Recoiling, you were met with bright red. The knife that had leapt from the side was the sharpest one in the kitchen, Jin’s pride and joy. Where it had hit your arm, aided by gravity, it had easily sliced into your skin which now spewed blood at an alarming rate as you jumped up, eyes glued to the injury.

Bandages. Clean it. Stop the blood.

Minor first aid had been drilled into your head since you were younger, given all the scrapes and bruises you accumulated. But now, as red spattered onto your kitchen floor, you couldn’t seem to remember the order to do things.

Where were the bandages anyway?

No, clean it. Yes.

Ripping your eyes away, you clutched the edge of the sink as you stuck your arm under running water. It burned like fire into your cut.

Snatching your arm back, you watched the pale red splash up the edges of the sink, now falling onto the counter too. Shit. Clamping your other hand over the injury, you squeezed it and hissed in pain just as the room wobbled around you.

Scratch all this. You needed to lie down.

Eyes set on the sofa, you stepped towards it, but you never made it that far.

In the brightness of the room, only one face is visible. A woman with age-worn skin is looking at you.

She is talking.

Fire blazes all around her, throwing her face into light, nearly erasing the wrinkles that cling to her.

She is louder than the fire, words you do not recognise spilling from her lips. You’ve heard this kind of thing before, though, and you know she is gifted. Her words carry the distinct sound of the language of magic.

Though you do not understand it, you know she is not a friend.

But her words change.

Within the hostile words, there is one you know. A name.

But it isn’t yours. Why are you here if she wants Eunji? Eunji is your grandmother’s name.

Before you can ask, the fire stops burning. Silence returns.

In the darkness of the room, only one face is visible. She is lit by moonlight.

“Why are we in such a hurry anyway?” Yoongi eyed his friend in the passenger seat as he chewed his lip, looking back at his phone for the third time in a minute.

“Something bad might have happened.”

Resurfacing from his blank phone screen, Jimin watched the light turn to green, relieved when Yoongi pulled away much too fast.

When they pulled up outside your building, Jimin had already thrown his seatbelt off, jumping out before Yoongi had even turned the car off. Frowning, he followed his friend as he ran to the door, nearly beating it down with the force of his knocks.

No one answered.

He had thought you could be just napping, missing the phone calls. Letting your phone die was a special talent of yours, anyway.

But no one could sleep through the racket Jimin was making.

Joining Jimin at the door, he looked around. Since you had been locked out, Jin had given in and had a spare key made to ‘save you from yourself’. Picking up a pot plant from the doorstep, Yoongi revealed the key, which Jimin instantly dived for.

“Y/N?” Jimin was running up the hallway.

Yoongi heard him gasp before he had reached the corner himself, but it made him speed up.

It was a good thing Jimin had panicked. Because there you were, out cold on the kitchen floor, blood flowing from your arm and a knife stained red lying nearby.

Yoongi already had his phone to his ear as Jimin crashed to his knees next to you, crying out your name and pulling you onto his knees. No response came. Looking wildly around him, he grabbed for a towel, rolling it up and pressing it into your arm where the blood still seeped out.

He barely heard Yoongi talking behind him as he swallowed down the lump in his throat, free hand cupping your face, running his thumb shakily across your cheekbone.

The paramedics didn’t arrive for too long. Then he blinked and they were everywhere, hands pulling him back away from you. You got lost in the water warping his vision.

But you would be okay.

That was what they said, but he could barely believe it when he walked into your hospital room at last, greeted with your eyes, awake and alive. Your sheepish smile, embarrassed at another mishap.

It felt like air had entered his lungs for the first time since it all left him when he had seen you on the floor some hours ago.

“Thank god,” he choked when his face was finally pressed into your hair, arms holding so tight you weren’t sure you would ever escape. Not that you would complain about that.

His lips found yours desperately, telling you how much he cared, how much he worried. Eyes fluttering shut, you returned the embrace, reveling in the feeling.

A cough startled you apart.

“Get a room,” Jin complained. It didn’t quite have the same effect when his smile wouldn’t leave his face.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we are in a room,” you retorted.

Nonetheless, Jimin stepped back and let Jin hug you. Yoongi followed not far behind with a carrier of coffee for everyone. Jungkook had already called you, just before they all arrived, promising bucketloads of junk food when he came back.

“I thought I banned you from my good knives,” Jin fixed you with a stare as he sat down.

You avoided his gaze.

“The others weren’t strong enough for the pumpkin,” you muttered, aware of how stupid it sounded.

He just sighed.

“I’m just glad Jimin turned up when he did,” Jin squeezed Jimin’s knee, “how did you know to come anyway?”

“Well…” Jimin shuffled in his seat, “I sort of found something out…”

Looking to the other occupants in the room, you found their gazes just as blank as yours.

“What do you mean?”

Tugging his chair a little closer, Jimin reached out for your hand, enclosing it in his.

“I was doing some research. We all know you’re clumsy, unlucky and bad things happen to you a lot-“

“Thanks Jimin,” you said drily, eyebrows climbing your face.

“No, no! I still l- you know what I mean,” he sighed after you burst out laughing at his panic, “no, but seriously Y/N, I don’t think it’s a coincidence. I study curses, and all the signs are there. Dreams, bad luck, unlikely accidents. I found a book, there was this illustration about a particular curse, it matched the scorch marks from the fire at your place exactly. It’s an old curse, elders used it to wish ill fortune on a family line, and it relies on moon magic. And tonight was a full moon, and this happened, so…”

Staring back at your boyfriend, you were glad for the grounding presence of his hand. You hadn’t understood all of what he said, not knowing anything about magic yourself, but it was clear what he thought.

You were cursed.

“But-but my family aren’t cursed,” you spoke quietly, “you said it was a family curse-”

“A family line curse,” he explained, “it only affects one person, but it’s a curse bestowed on someone else in your family. Sometimes people want to hurt a loved one of the one they curse, not the enemy themselves.”

“That’s horrible,” you whispered.

“I know,” Jimin said, “and that’s why we need to break it. I’m sure I’m right about this, it all fits. I can show you the book I found, if you want.”

Nodding, you looked at your lap.

“How do we break it?”

“That’s a little more tricky…” Jimin admitted, pushing a hand through his hair, “we need to find out who cast it in the first place. That way we can unwork exactly what was done, since it’s a highly personal curse.”

“My grandma,” you muttered.

“Sorry?”

“I think it was my grandma.”

You eyes met Jimin’s. Greeted with his full attention, you took a breath and elaborated.

“I had another dream… or, at least, I think it was a dream. It was while I was passed out. It was the same as before, but, well, it was quite different actually. But the woman, she definitely said my grandma’s name.”

“Then you’re probably right,” Jimin squeezed your hand, “shall we give her a call?”

As the dial tone bleeped in your ear, you looked around at your friends. Although Yoongi had dozed off in his chair, Jin was giving you an encouraging smile. When your eyes met, he gave you a thumbs up. Grinning, you leaned back into Jimin’s arms where he sat on the bed behind you.

“Hello?” your grandpa’s voice finally greeted you.

“Oh, hi, grandpa, it’s me,” you smiled.

“Hello sweetie! How are you?” he asked, “your dad told us you had an accident today.”

“Yes, I’m fine thank you. I was wondering if I could talk to grandma?”

“Ah, sorry love, she’s out at the moment. Bad luck.”

Not funny grandpa. Bad luck was the exact thing you were trying to shake off.

“Okay,” you sighed, “maybe she could phone me when she gets back?”

“Hold on,” your grandpa’s voice grew more distant. In the distance, a door clicked. “I think that’s her now. I’ll get her.”

Suddenly, his yell of ‘EUNJIII!’ made you jump, hurriedly jerking away from your phone.

“Hello dear?” your grandma’s voice crackled across and you deemed it safe to return the device to your ear.

“Hi grandma. I have something I have to ask you.”

“Of course,” you could practically hear her smiling, but you felt yourself growing hot. How were you meant to breach such a subject?

“Um, were you ever, I mean, how-“ a deep breath, “are you cursed?”

Wow. Real tactful, you scolded yourself mentally.

“Oh!” you grandma laughed on the other line, “I see, dear. Any reason you’re asking.”

“Um, just, that, maybe, I might be sort of… cursed, too,” you winced.

“I mean, you are quite unlucky…” she gave an awkward laugh, but offered nothing more.

“Grandma,” you begged, “please tell me.”

She sighed.

“Okay. Yes, I was cursed. I never believed it though, but ever since you came along, I started to see the truth. Your grandpa knows all this too, but I never thought it would be so bad.”

“But we can break it grandma,” you encouraged, “it can be broken if we know why it was cast in the first place.”

“You can really break it?”

“Yes, grandma.”

“I’m so sorry, I never knew anything about all this magic, I just thought… well, I can tell you what happened.

“Y/N, the thing is... I’m bisexual. And when I was your age, I had a girlfriend. When her mother found out, she was very angry. Back then, people weren’t accepting like they are now, and she wouldn’t tolerate us being together. They were from a community of magic and she blamed me for ‘leading her daughter astray’, and tried to curse me, saying I would feel her pain when I had a daughter of my own.”

“Oh,” you breathed. That made sense. Your grandma only had one child, your father. So… “I’m the next daughter in the family.”

“Yes, my dear,” your grandma sighed, “so you see why I never believed her. She was just a hateful old woman, and when your dad was fine, I thought the curse wasn’t real. I’m so sorry Y/N.”

“It’s okay, grandma,” you told her, “I still love you very much. We will break it. Thank you for telling me.”

Magic in real life was nothing like what you had seen on TV. Well, you were doing a different kind, you supposed.

Jimin had a massive book on the floor in front of him, a row of dried plants beside him. Eyeing them, you took deep breaths. Jimin’s explanation hadn’t really made sense to you, so you just planned to go with whatever the process was.

You had understood one thing, however.

“Homophobic piece of shit curse,” you grumbled, picking aggressively at the floorboards. “This would be so much better if I had to kiss a girl, just to stick it to that woman.”

Smile tugging at his lips, Jimin looked up at you.

“Do you not want to kiss me?”

“Of course I want to kiss you, idiot,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m just saying.”

Chuckling, Jimin bent back over his book.

“Well, I think we’re ready. Then you never have to kiss me again.”

“No, Jimin!” you gasped, “I want to kiss you plenty!”

“Come here then,” he laughed.

Giggling, you walked to him and knelt in front of him, returning to the gorgeous familiarity of his kiss, his hands tantalising on your waist.

“Okay,” he panted, eventually drawing back, “that was a good practise. Time to do it for real. Are you ready?”

Nodding, you climbed off him and sat, mirroring his position cross-legged on the floor. At his reassuring smile, you closed your eyes.

You felt his soft palm rest on your forehead, and he murmured something. Though it was incomprehensible to you, it did stir something in you. Though your eyes were closed, your retinas seemed flooded with golden light, while something churned low in your stomach.

The hand stayed in place as the scent of lavender engulfed you, one of the plants Jimin had prepared. He spoke again.

Suddenly, the light flashed and disappeared, the world sinking into darkness.

One face is visible.

You know her, you have been here before, and she is still talking.

But now the smoke in the room is visible, light grey tendrils rising from burning lavender. There is no fire. The woman’s voice changes then.

The language of magic continues, but Jimin’s voice is sounding through the room, and another smell meets you, a herb you do not know.

You stay there for a while. Although you do not move, you are sure you could if you wanted. You aren’t in danger here anymore.

Her hand raises. She has done that before, but this time there is no threat. You are sure of it. You know it from the way light pools in her palm, warm, innocent, inviting.

You cannot look away.

Maybe you are floating. Something is pulling at you, and suddenly you gasp, tasting the herbs in the air. It feels like something is moving inside you. You clutch your chest, feeling something curling around your heart, fighting, and then it is rising and you are choking on it.

Maybe you are dying.

Gasping and spluttering, you find no air. But something finds you. A kiss like home, sweet against your lips, and when they pull away, air spills in.

A whisper by your ears, so close the breath moves your hair.

“Open your eyes.”

The room is light, and one face is visible. Jimin smiles.

“It worked!”

Tackling your boyfriend to the floor in a hug, you press your face into his chest. You couldn’t believe it. It was really gone!

“How do you feel?” he laughed.

“Great! Amazing! Perfect!” you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face, “I could do anything! I can have plants without killing them now, right! Jin might let me in the kitchen! Oh my god, I’m going to win a video game against Jungkook!”

Ecstatic, you watched Jimin laughing hysterically under you, joy written all over his face. It suited him.

Maybe now the curse was gone, you could do anything, but there was one thing you wanted more than all that.

“I love you,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss him.

Please please please reblog if you liked it, sharing my work really helps me out! Thank you for reading💜

[kashimos-hajime]

all the stars are closer | c.b.

summary: mark watney wasn’t the only one left behind on mars, and as you struggle to survive on the desert planet, hidden feelings come to light between you and your best friend, dr. chris beck.

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, pining, confessed feelings, probably terrible space jargon but i tried :^), swearing, movie-level injuries pairing: chris beck x fem!reader word count: 7.9k

a/n: written for @baezen​​​. my prompt was have you ever wanted to hate someone? with chris beck :D inspired by say something by a great big world. i wrote this from 12-5am this morning and i’ve perused for mistakes but excuse me if there are still some left!

SOL 18

The sol you’re left behind is… unexpected to say the least.

The winds pick up the sand so heavily your headlights barely pierce through the thick gusts as you push yourself against the current. Small clumps of sand brush against your helmet as you turn to close the door to the Hab behind you. It locks with a groan and you give it a small push to make sure before you turn around again, your eyes focus on Watney’s suit in front of you, desperate not to lose sight of him.

The wind whips at your body, slams into you like a hundred punches all over your suit. It’s as if claws dig into your legs and drag you back. Each step is agonizingly slow.

“Commander, we’re at 10 degrees. The MAV is gonna tip at 12.3.” Martinez’s voice rings in your ears as the punishing sand blocks your vision of Watney for a split second. Your heart is thrumming in your throat and you try to reach forward against the gales but you can barely raise your arms higher than your waist.

Metal crunches, bending under the force of the storm and you raise your head, squinting to try and make out the structures around them. All you see are shadows, silhouettes of your friends and you inhale sharply when a rock flies into the glass of your helmet. Flinching back, you lower your head as your eyes scan for cracks.

“You good, Y/N?”

Chris’ voice rattles in your helmet as you look up. He’s one of the figures in the far distance but you smile anyway, continuing your walk towards him.

“Yeah. You spying on my vitals, Beck?” you tease and his slight chuckle warms your blood as you step over a fallen line.

“That’s Dr. Beck, and no. Just checking up on my crew mates.”

“Hey, lovebirds and companions!” Watney calls. “We might be able to keep the MAV from tipping.”

“How?”

“Use cable from the comms mast as guy lines, anchor it with the Rover’s—” A particularly strong burst of wind knocks you back a few steps, distracting you from Watney’s idea. Your muscles screech in protest as you catch yourself, trying to regain your balance. Your foot digs in awkwardly into the sand as another gale swerves from the side and knocks you right into a crouch.

Lessons at the Academy ring in your ear as the storm howls louder. There’s a faint whistling, hollow in your skull, and you keep your eyes on the two lines of your crew, still heading forward. You’ll give yourself three seconds. Three seconds to just stabilize yourself and then you’ll need to catch up.

Make yourself smaller, ground yourself. You need to realign your centre of gravity.

Your instructor’s voice in your head repeating the words over and over again, you begin to stand up again. Sucking in a lungful of stale air, you take your first step forward. You’re dead focused on keeping your balance and making it to the MAV. There’s nothing more you want than to just sink into the seat, buckled in beside Chris.

“Watch out!”

You don’t see it coming.

Mark Watney slams into you at inhumane speeds. Screaming, you’re knocked off your feet and lifted into the air by the winds pushing you in every direction. Your head jerks forward into the helmet before snapping back, and your whole body alights with fire. Watney’s body is limp against yours and you struggle to get a hold on him, fingers slipping on his wrist. You can barely hear yourself over the storm, your throat burning raw as you catch sight of your arm computer.

/WATNEY /SIGNAL LOST

“Mark? Mark! Wake up!” You glance around, your neck beginning to freeze up from the whiplash. The sharp ping of his decompression alarm rings in your ears, a warning of the death to come and you let out a desperate scream.

There are no figures in sight. No crew members. No one is going to find you in a near-zero visibility storm.

Wrapping your arms around Mark as tight as you can to keep him nearby, you close your eyes and redirect all your energy to staying awake. Metal is creaking, tarp is snapping, and the roaring winds whip at your flying bodies as something slams into your ribs.

“Watney!”

“Y/N!” Chris’ horrified scream of your name reverberates through your skull and you shout out his name, as if that’ll help you hone in on his suit. As if that’ll save you.

Arms dislodged from Mark, he flies past you just as another hard piece of metal sends you flying in another direction. Grasping at nothing but sand, you let out another piercing shriek as you tumble towards the ground.

The landing slams into your bones, and you feel like something breaks inside before everything goes black.

.

Broken ribs, whiplash, multiple contusions all over your body.

Your suit is nothing more than a pile on the ground as you stumble around the Hab for medical supplies and you barely manage to bring your bruised legs across to the table, the tray of supplies trembling in your weak hand. Your ribs are splitting, blistering pain as you try to suck in a breath, sinking onto the exam table as you carefully begin to peel off your shirt. Your chest screams at you to stop moving and the pain is blinding as you lift up your arms, fingers carefully hooked on the hem of your shirt and tug up.

“Fuck,” you grit out, your neck frozen in place as you try to get it unsnagged from your head. Your mind is racing, trying to come up with any way you could perform an epidural on yourself, as you grab the injection needle. You’ll need to be able to move with less pain than this if you want to get out of this mess, but you need another trained professional to dig it into your back.

You need Chris and you don’t have him here.

What you found is morphine, vials of different anesthetics, and needles. You load one of them up and the syringe is smooth against your clammy palm as you raise your arm haphazardly to your neck. It’s loaded with lidocaine and you press down against your neck, clenching your teeth as a soft click accompanied by a sharp nipping pain digs deeply into your wrenched muscles.

Tossing the anesthetic onto the table, you grab the oral meds. Acetaminophen tablets. You’re going to be needing a lot of them over the next few days as you try to work out your next course of action. Acetaminophen tablets and cold showers.

Great.

Popping one into your mouth, you crush it between your teeth and dry swallow, sweat glistening on your skin as you tilt your head back against the table and close your eyes. Lucky for you, your thoracic cavity only feels like it’s about to cave in when you breathe in.

Small blessings and all that.

You feel the sweet pull of sleep tug at your consciousness as you let out a sigh, melting against the warming metal table. Not that you’re keen on wasting away on Chris’ exam table, but it does sound nice at the moment. Your eyes fluttering shut, you try to ignore the sounds of your own laboured breathing and the sight of a deserted Mars. Ignore the fact that you barely limped your way back to the Hab after searching for Watney and the MAV.

So this wasn’t just some shitty dream. Your crew is really gone, and Watney really is dead.

Shit.

Eyebrows furrowing together, you force yourself into a sitting position despite the dulling ache in your neck and the consistently sharp pain in your chest. Breathing in quick puffs, you slide your legs off the exam table just as the low beep of the Hab repressurizing catches your attention.

No time to rest. I’m not going to die here.

“Pressure stable.”

Forcing yourself to your feet, you watch as a figure slowly limps to the second door.

And then the door opens and you see Mark Watney turning to look the Hab doors, alive.

This has to be a dream.

“Watney,” you call out hoarsely, throat still raw from screaming. Trying to get up, you stifle a groan and walk around Chris’ desk. You stumble to him on unsteady legs and he catches you by the arms as you search his gaze. He looks like shit. “You okay?” Helping him rip off his suit, your eyes scan for injuries as his rest on your face, utter relief flooding the air. “Couldn’t just fucking die, huh?”

“Neither could you, apparently,” he shoots back through a clenched jaw and you laugh despite how much it aches.

Thank god, you’re not alone.

SOL 21

“So you’re blaming me,” Mark affirms as you count the amount of mac and cheese they have left in the Hab.

32. 33. 34. 35.

“I mean, you did crash into me,” you point out, picking up another pack. 36. 37. 38. “The dish completely destroyed my bio-monitor computer.”

“It wasn’t my choice to get completely slammed by it,” he shoots back, counting his packets of beef goulash. A cold pack is strapped to your neck and there’s a few more shoved underneath your shirt for your ribs, and your skin is numb to the touch as you take a sip of juice from your bottle. Acetaminophen went down three hours ago. It’ll be time to take it again in another despite Watney’s insistence on the morphine. No, you’re saving it for when things get serious.

39. 40. 41. 42.

Not that being stranded on Mars isn’t serious.

“Forty two mac and cheeses,” you announce victoriously, setting the final pack in the tray and pushing it towards his side of the table so he can put it back on the shelf later. “Meatballs up next.”

“We can probably ration this out to three-hundred fifty days. Two people eating instead of seven. Three-quarters of a meal.”

“I’ll have half,” you say, beginning all over again with new packets. 1. 2. 3.

“You need to eat more. You’re still on bed rest.”

“I’m fine. We have work to do if we don’t want to die on this planet, Mark.”

“No.”

“I can do EVA and clear the solar panels. I have whiplash, I’m not dead.” you argue but Mark merely sends you a look as if to say, Try me. You roll your eyes and wince when he comes around the table and pokes your side.

“You have broken ribs that are under enough stress as it is. If it were anyone else, you would tell them to lie the hell down.”

Tossing him a glare, you bite out, “I’m fine when random men don’t poke me in the ribs.”

“My bad. Beck’s privileges,” he quips and you just manage to snipe him in the back of the head with a mac and cheese pack before he turns around. He merely gives you a hint of a smile before tossing the pack back at you going back to writing. You sigh, placing the mac and cheese pack back into the tray before turning to your meatballs.

You hadn’t even thought about Chris ever since realizing you’re not alone stranded on Mars, at least not in depth. Your best friend is no doubt losing his mind over leaving you behind—always had such a strong guilt over nothing—and now, when you let yourself feel it, his absence carves something hollow in your chest.

You miss him.

“You think they even thought that we might be alive?” you ask Mark quietly. You’re not angry that they left you behind. It was the practical thing to do, but you wonder if they wonder about the possibility, or if they’d rather sleep easier at night.

“I think that’s all they think about,” Mark says. “Lewis is gonna beat herself over this.”

You think of the Commander, then your thoughts turn to Chris again without any prompting. God. And what will your parents say?

A Thanksgiving dinner without you there is probably gonna be a bit down in the dumps, huh.

Then again, they’d planned not to have you and Chris back this year, so maybe it wouldn’t be too awful despite thinking their only child is dead.

Yikes.

SOL 79

“So are you and Beck really a thing?” Mark asks as you help him pull out the potato plants gently. “You know, making idle conversation while we farm our shit potatoes,” he adds when you shoot him a glare. Your ribs are on the mend and your neck is regaining its range of motion, but it still aches so you have to rotate at your waist to face him completely before you return back to your own gardening.

“We’re best friends, Watney.” Picking up the larger of the potatoes and placing it gently into your bucket, you spot Mark on the other end of their tiny greenhouse out of the corner of your eye, giving you a small smug grin. “So no, we’re not a thing. We’ve never been like that.”

“Never. Not even a tiny little slip?”

“Never. I’ve known him since we were like three and it’s just… he’s been by my side since forever. There’s never been a time when we could’ve been more. Not with everything that goes on.” School, then uni, then med-school, flight academy, Ares 3. Always something more. “This is… actually kinda the longest I’ve been without him hanging around, to be honest.” The confession leaves you breathless. Has it really been seventy-one sols since you saw your best friend? Last heard his voice?

Will it be the last time ever? Will you spend the rest of your life feeling so empty inside because only Chris can fill it with his laugh? WIth his smile? The perennial feeling of missing someone is tragic all in itself.

You move on to the next potato plant and slowly wiggle it out of the dirt. “Why’re you asking?” you ask to distract yourself. “You know it’s not recommended by NASA to be in relationships within the crew. Besides, we have a mission to focus on.”

“That doesn’t stop Beck at all.”

“What are you even talking about?” You laugh, trying to ignore the thought of Chris’ tiny little smile on Hermes whenever he floated past while you were working out or when they’d open emails together. Hermes had been your home with him and now… he’s there.

Alone.

“You think we don’t see you two flirting? God, you’d be off together for hours at a time and we’d all make bets on what you guys were doing.”

“You know you can’t have sex in space, right?” you point out and Mark wrinkles his nose. “I don’t even want to try it.”

“You can, actually. It would be aerobic.”

“And if you flew into a tied condom somehow, it would be our fault,” you retort with a smile, heat flooding your face. The idea of just having sex in a place where all your friends could catch you in the act? And with Chris? A guy who’s been by your side since day one? The thought sends shivers down your spine. Pleasant shivers. It’s not like you imagined what it’d be like—to hold his hand, to kiss him, to… go farther.

“That’s gross.”

You blink, turning to look at Mark for a moment. “Not that we’re that irresponsible. We’re doctors. Being sanitary is in our nature.”

“Look, all I’m saying is, Beck made some comments before we launched and I thought he’d have made a move by now.”

“Who said he hasn’t?” you murmur low enough that only you can hear, trying not to think about the words he whispered on Hermes when he thought you were sleeping. God, those words had haunted you every day since and the only reason they’ve been out of your mind is the high possibility of your death on Mars. Louder, you say, “Probably because we’re just friends, Watney.”

Friends.

The word tastes bittersweet on your tongue as you pick up another potato.

SOL 136

HRM: Apparently, NASA’s letting us talk to you now, and I drew the short straw.

HRM: Sorry we left you two behind on Mars, but we just don’t like you. Also, it’s a lot roomier on Hermes without you guys. We have to take turns doing your tasks, but it’s only botany (not real science.) and Beck can still work with his broken little heart.

HRM: How’s Mars?

In the Rover, you’re piled in behind Mark as he types out a response and you laugh at the tiny jest at Chris.

RVR: Dear Martinez, Mars is fine. I accidentally blew up the Hab, but unfortunately all of Commander Lewis’ disco music still survived.

“For the record, Y/N appreciates something to listen to besides me talking to the camera for hours on end,” you say and he nods, smiling as he transcribes your message.

RVR: Every day we go outside and look at the vast horizons just because we can. I’m going to hand the reins over to Y/N now. I think she’s had enough of me talking all the time.

Mark glances back at you and nods, getting out of the driver’s seat one way while you shimmy into the seat the other way. Sliding into the seat, you settle down with a sigh as Mark peers over your shoulder and you poise your fingers over the keyboard.

HRM: Dear Y/N, how’re the ribs coming along? And for the record, I do not have a broken little heart, but I do miss you a lot. It’s getting boring here without you, especially now that I have to deal with Johanssen thinking she has a brain tumour every two minutes.

RVR: Dear Chris, I miss you, too. My ribs are completely healed, thank you. It’s a lot harder to sleep at night knowing there’s a chance we might not come home, but I think about you a lot. Mostly, I think about the crew and how if one of them gets a paper cut, your sutures will never be as straight as mine. By the way, Johanssen is my girl. Do not talk about her that way.

“He’s tryna make you jealous,” Mark sings teasingly under his breath and you turn to smack him with a gloved hand before waiting for the response.

HRM: We’ll work it out. I hope Watney isn’t taking my place as your best friend with his potatoes.

RVR: Well, have you ever wanted to hate someone but you can’t because they’re vital to your survival and also they grow potatoes?

HRM: Why do you think I keep you around? Your mom’s mashed potatoes, of course. I love it more than you do.

Your smile digs into your cheeks as you read that message, and you feel your throat cinch shut as you swallow.

RVR: No, you don’t. It’s simply not possible.

You hope he can hear you somewhere, just saying those words outloud. You hope it sounds like you just like how you can hear his voice with every word he types.

HRM: Come home safe, Y/N. Space would be lonely without you otherwise.

RVR: As if I’d let you live in space without me.

SOL 186

You wake up to an empty Hab.

There is no movement, no rustling of Watney trying to make ends meet as you remember last night’s news.

Kapoor: The Iris probe failed to launch. I’m sorry.

Rolling onto your side, you feel your stomach howl. Clutching your side, you close your eyes and try to fall back asleep but your internal clock is ringing in your ears and even though there’s nothing more on the list, you get up anyway, blanket wrapped around you. Ever since you’ve cut down on meals, you’ve been going hungrier and hungrier, but you’re not losing your fat yet, thank god. You need to stay warm.

Passing by clear plastic covering the hole in the Hab, your eyes search for where the Rover was parked last night.

Not there.

So, Mark’s gone and left already. The two of you had decided last night in your bunk beds to simply take the days as they came—to travel as much as they could, see it all before they go.

It’s grim in hindsight, but it’s your ending life now.

Heading for the cabinet, you feel your whole body drag against the floor as you fight to keep your strength up. Although you’ve felt like you’ve been starving for at least four days now, there’s a new hollowness at the realization that there isn’t more food coming. You microwave a potato and cut a meatloaf into thirds before lining your plate with the vitamins needed to stay healthy. Heading to your work station, your eyes pass over a picture of you and Chris is still framed there.

You bite into the potato and feel it thick against your tongue. It’s a struggle to chew and even harder to swallow but you manage it anyway as you reach for the frame. The two of you, cheeks pressed together, newly earned stethoscopes around your necks. The day you guys graduated med school.

You loved him then. You’ve loved him your whole damn life. Loved him and felt your heart burst when he said those words in your quarters after carrying you there from games night.

Sweet dreams, Y/N. I love you, even though I know we could never be more than this.

But you’ve always been too afraid to tell him. Afraid of what? Afraid because it could’ve changed things?

Isn’t that what you always wanted? For him to see you as you saw him?

Setting down the frame, you turn away. You bring your meager meal to the computer and log into HabJournal, slumping down in the chair as you pull the blanket tighter around you. The camera focuses on you and it begins to record immediately as you set down your plate on the table.

“So, Sol 186,” you begin quietly, looking at your own image. You’re beginning to lose colour in your skin and your eyes are sinking from lack of sleep, but you bring a piece of meatloaf to your mouth and chew regardless. “Last night we were told the Iris probe failed to launch, so that means we stretched our rations for four more days for nothing, basically.” You set down your fork and knife, the meat heavy on your tongue as you try to think of what to say. Thoughts of Chris, your parents, the crew, flood your mind. “Guess that means we’re going to starve to death and no… dark humour can’t pull us out of this one. We found enough morphine for two lethal injections our first night here, so… if worse comes to worse… I mean—” You clear your throat— “we have to think of every outcome. Mark already asked Commander Lewis to tell his parents, you know, covering bases like I said.” Your eyes slip shut for a moment as you exhale and then you rouse yourself again, staring at your half-eaten ration. You don’t want to eat anymore.

“I have to stay awake until tonight. He’s gone out with the Rover and I need to send a message to the people I love. You know, cover my bases, too.” Eyes drifting, you spot another picture of you and Chris in Hermes, floating as you squirt some food into the air for him to eat, thumbtacked to the board. You were both smiling, laughing until your guts ached. It must’ve been something like tubed chocolate mousse or a pudding. Your favourite, you had said because it was.

Chris has the biggest sweet tooth out of anyone you know.

“There’s a lot of things I wish I could’ve said, I think,” you add softly, gaze going back to the screen. You tuck your knees to your chest and smile bitterly, a chuckle escaping just barely. “It’s just so stupid that we survive all this time just to… just to die because something failed. Like we did everything we could and it still… it just isn’t enough.” Picking up the potato with your bare hands, you pop the quarter left into your mouth and simply watch your image eat. “I don’t want to die,” you clarify once you swallow. “It’s not my intention to give up until it’s too late for sure, but you know, at least we accomplished something this time. I mean, I’m still trying to finish Chris’ chemolithotrophic experiment since Mark doesn’t understand anything about it so Ares 4 can pick up where I left off.

You know, on the bright side, we still got somewhere. Mark’s the greatest botanist on this planet, and I’m honoured to have helped him grow the very first lifeform on Mars. We fucking ate organic human-shit potatoes, baby. We could’ve done this thing.” You stare at the camera, and hope, when Chris watches your final journal log, he understands what you mean. “We definitely could’ve done it and it sucks, but that’s life. I knew what I was doing when I signed up, and this is so much bigger than two humans stuck on Mars. I know Mark feels the same way. We don’t regret this. It’s going to be okay, and I hope you guys can finish the mission if we end up... you know, gone before we can. Anyway, I’m gonna go make myself useful and check up on Chris’ experiment.

“This is Dr. Y/L/N signing out.”

.

RVR: Hey, Chris. Today’s been alright. Mark came back in better spirits and he actually got to work today with the other crew’s duties. It’s good to hear him joking after what we heard last night.

RVR: I know we never really planned for things to go this way. You know we talked about the possibility as a joke, but now that it might become a reality, I hope you know what I said was serious. You know, with the whole talking to my parents thing. Please talk to them and tell them all about Mars, and tell them that I love them so much, and just see them. Try to go every weekend like we used to together. You know, let them check up on you.

RVR: Yeah, I’m not asking you to check up on them, because you’re family, Chris. I’m asking you to let them check up on you. They’ll always be your rock, and you need them, too. You’re gonna need them when I’m gone. Gonna need to tell ‘em that you’re not okay, because… you’re not going to be okay. I know you.

RVR: You’ll blame yourself because you think you should’ve gone out into a eighty-six hundred Newton storm and I wish I can be there in person to tell you that it’s stupid, that there was no reason for you to believe I was alive and that giving up on me saved your life, but I know I can’t. You wouldn’t believe me, anyway.

RVR: And I love you, too. We could’ve been way more than this. Maybe we can be, if we have another chance. I don’t know. I don’t know anything except that I love you. I’ve loved you my whole life, and now, it might be too late.

RVR: If I don’t make it out alive, please move on. Please don’t get hung up on me just because you think of all the things we could’ve been. You’re my best friend, Chris. I don’t want to see you sad. I never have. Cry a few tears, move on, find a nice girl who’ll love you like I never was brave enough to admit I do, and just… maybe visit the grave every once in a while. That would be nice.

Your hands tremble as you type in your last words and then hit Enter.

RVR: I miss you more than anything. I love you.

SOL 219

“I can’t believe I blurted out my feelings and now we’re preparing for a chance to go home,” you call out over the comms. Mark inflates the tarp on top of the Rover and you watch, the roll of tape still on your hand as you jump off the vehicle. You land with a solid thump, the dust stirring around your boots. Excitement is pulsing through your veins for the first time in a long time as you turn to watch your day’s work begin to swell. “Just like, three hundred more sols and we get to see our friends again.”

“Oh, don’t worry. We still have a chance of dying so it won’t all be so bad.”

“Way to ruin it, Watney,” you sigh as it reaches its max. “Looks good. I don’t see any seals.”

“Perfect. Besides, maybe it’ll be a good thing you finally said what you needed to say to Beck. God knows it was suffocating just watching you two,” the astronaut adds, walking around the Rover and you shoot him a glare. “It was cute, but just plain annoying.”

“Why do you feel the need to bring this up every single time?” you retort, heading back for the Hab despite Watney’s calls of your name. He walks after you with a little wince to his step and you make a mental note to prepare a hot bath. He had strained his back a few days ago lifting rocks to test how far the Rover could go with all the extra weight and you’ve got nothing for sore muscles beside muscle relaxants and hot packs.

“Because Commander Lewis definitely would’ve moved you two to the same bed if it meant you two would shut up with the flirting. We’re all single on that ship!”

“Watney,” you deadpan, turning to look at your friend as he catches up to you. “You and Johanssen are the only people single on that ship as of this moment. And no, she wouldn’t. Can you imagine how embarrassing that would be?” As if I hadn’t already sneaked into Chris’ quarters more than once because of the excitement of going into space, the fear that we won’t make it back, your head adds but you keep your mouth shut about that.

“Aha! So you admit you’re no longer available!”

“I have never been emotionally available on this mission!” you shoot back, exasperated. “Or ever!”

“See, that’s what you say.”

“Do you want a hot bath or not because I can use up the hot water. Don’t try me.” You really wouldn’t but it’s fun to see the slight panic in Mark’s eyes. “I miss him, yeah, and so what if I have feelings for him?”

“Then, Martinez owes me fifty bucks.”

“You’re literally the worst,” you mutter, grabbing onto the Hab door and twisting it open. “I’ve got to check up on Chris’ experiment. Run your own damn bath.” Mark closes the door behind him and the chamber begins to pressurize.

“Oh, now you’re being mean.”

“Pressure stable.”

Twisting off your helmet, you turn to Mark and shove your glove into his helmet, pushing him back. He stumbles back and you laugh as he fights to find his balance. He tries to grab you to pull you back with him but you walk out of reach, opening the second door and entering the Hab.

“Mean!”

SOL 461

You’re losing your body fat at last ever since they’ve begun to run out of food which means you’re getting colder and colder in the same environment every day. There’s nothing you can do but keep your calories at a minimum level to stay alive as long as possible as you put on your space suit for what you hope is the last time.

“Your beard is gross,” you call out to Mark as you slide on your helmet and he wrinkles his nose at you, writing down 461 on the wall. Turning to you, he is about to exit when he remembers his helmet and you smirk. “Space pirate.”

“We’re space pirates,” he agrees. “Why don’t we explore those waters, Captain?”

You smirk, turn on your arm computer and hone in on Mark’s telemetry signal as a test before nodding.

“Aye aye, Captain.”

SOL 524

“Hey, wake up.” Jolting awake, you glance blearily up Mark’s thin face and you groan, blinking the sleep out of your eyes. “We’ve gotta eat and clean up a bit.” Groaning, you sit up and follow him out of the Rover as your bones clamour inside your suit. You’ve lost almost all the meat off your limbs, your ribs peeking out underneath your skin, and you feel like you could be blown away by a soft breeze.

Inside the inflated structure, you strip down to nothing and turn your back to Watney as he prepares the meals of potatoes and whatever’s left at this rate. Running a wet pad over your bruising skin, your teeth chatter and you try to ignore the fact that the divets in your arms where muscle used to be are starting to look a bit too hollow. You feel empty inside, like you haven’t been full for ages, and as you crouch down to rub down your legs, you wonder how you look.

Pitifully small, probably.

It’s how Watney looks with his hobo beard at least. Blood is gathering underneath his skin, the beginnings of contusions blooming along the notches on his spine and you sigh. There’s only so much their paper-thin skin can do at this rate.

“What’ve we got?” you ask, pulling on a shirt and crouching beside him. He nudges a bowl of wet beans and half a raw potato towards you. “Yum.”

“It’s all we’ve got at this rate,” Mark mumbles quietly. He’s losing it, too. When NASA can’t see them, you see what Mark’s really like. He’s exhausted to the core, and losing more energy every day. You pretend you don’t realize he’s giving you the majority of the food because it’s a survival tactic. Just like how if Hermes crew doesn’t make it, Johanssen is having human meat soup for eight more months after the rations run out because she’s the youngest, smallest, and she’ll know how to get back to Eartha alone. Well, not 100% alone. Her and five other carcasses.

The thought makes your stomach growl.

The thought of anything warm and filling is making it quail in protest, even if it is human flesh.

Well, that’s a bit fucked up.

Then again, you’re removing everything that protects you from space on the MAV once you reach it, so maybe cannibalistic thoughts aren’t so out of reach. It’s not like you’d actually act on them.

Watney’s all skin and bone at this point. Skin that’s beginning to break, bones that are hollowing out, and you’d rather die than eat your friend.

“If you’re thinking about eating me,” he says warily when you’ve gone on too long staring at his plate of potatoes and beans. “Please don’t. Wait until we actually run out of food, yeah?” You chuckle, your lungs wheezing as you bite into the raw potato.

“Aye aye, Captain.”

SOL 561

Turning around, you listen to Mark climb up the MAV. You’re sitting down on the edge of the hole, sliding your leg into a flight spacesuit. Your mind is running over all the possible outcomes for riding a spaceship with essentially no protection and you don’t know how to broach the topic of the effect of G-force on the human body.

“Hey, Watney.”

“Hey.”

“So,” you begin, pushing yourself up and heading for where the top half of your suit is suspended on harnesses. Mark turns to you and you sigh, pausing. His eyes find yours and you’re surprised to see how much trust lay within them. Before, sure, it’d been full of amusement, the mirth of his latest jest potent in his eyes, but now, that blue gaze is muted with respect and you can’t help but mirror that. They did this together and they’re going home together no matter what.

“So,” he mutters with a note of finality. He walks past you to grab the hygiene bag on the bench, unzipping it to uncover a razor and he heads for the mirror as you wring out your hands. 

“When we launch, we might get up to 12 G’s.”

“Yeah?”

Your eyes try not to linger on the dried blood on his shoulder as he switches the razor on. “So, we’re gonna pass out, almost definitely. And we might have internal bleeding, cracked ribs.” The razor buzzes inside your skull as you lower your hands. “Chris is the EVA specialist, but even if he does catch us—”

“You know the point of it all is that they tried, you know?” Mark says. “Because if they do catch us, that means we have another way of saving more astronauts.”

“This was a freak of a mission, Watney,” you reply, adjusting the waist of the suit. You ignore the pallor of your skin and instead, push yourself towards him. Your booted feet are heavier than bricks as he watches you approach in the mirror.

“Well, it was an honour to share it with you, Captain.” His eyes find yours through the reflection and you grin through the glass despite the fatigue weighing you down. You touch his arm tentatively and he sets the razor down before he turns around. “Nice knowing ya, Mrs. Beck,” he teases and you roll your eyes before pulling him into a shaking hug.

Your eyes close tightly and you do your best to ignore the fact that you both smell like shit as his arms wrap around you, too.

“We’ll see if we can make it work first,” you whisper. His arms seem to tighten and you let out a sharp sigh. “I don’t want to get sappy on you until I’m literally staring into the face of death, but this was a once in a lifetime mission, Mark. I’m glad you were here with me.”

“Yeah. Who else would’ve complained as much as you did?” he mocks and you laugh against him, fingers digging into the notches of his spine as you close your eyes for a moment, simply breathing in and out. 

“This could work.”

He pulls back, smiles, and his eyes dart over the redness along the edges of your face, too. The vessels around your eyes run as they try to keep your blood pumping and you can see the same roughness in his cheeks and eyes as he nods. “This could work.” 

Clapping his arm, you leave him to shave to put on the top half of your flight spacesuit.

Only the climb up to the MAV remains.

.

“Hold my hand as soon as you cut,” you say over the comms. Mark might be absolutely delighted by the idea, but as you watch Hermes approach from the distance, you can’t help the feeling of apprehension tightening in your gut. “We let go, we lose each other in space.”

“Yeah. I’m not letting you go at this point,” he says and you smile before he counts down. “Three. Two. One.” As soon as you dig the knife through your suit, you reach for Mark only to be launched back first into the MAV. Your rebroken ribs from the G-force protest in pain and you let out a grunt as you slam against Mark, but your uncut glove flails blindly, fingers trying to snag onto Mark still bouncing around with you. He latches onto one of the chairs and you fling out an arm, hooking elbows with him and clamping your open glove into a fist.

“Mark, report.”

Giving Mark a panicked smile, you just nod as he replies, “On our way, Commander.” 

On cue, the two of you release your fists and are launched into space. Unstable and tumbling, they spiral through space as they try to regain some balance and you wrestle against Mark’s arm pulling you off course as you angle your wrist outward, trying to realign yourself with Lewis. Letting go of Mark’s arm for a moment, you manage to snag onto Lewis, her elbow hooking onto your arm as you’re yanked back and you grunt, whole body snapping back. Mark’s hand digs into your leg but it slips and you glance back, terrified to see him swallowed up by the blackness surrounding them everywhere.

“Mark!” Readjusting yourself, you grab onto the tether as Mark manages to wrap his own hand on the orange rope and you pull with all your might. Black stars burst into your vision as the last of your strength goes and you let out a grunt as Lewis begins to spin them around. Mark whirls around them as she pulls and you simply hold on, your eyes beginning to slip shut. The sound of Mark’s fight echoes in your ears and you’re shackled with that god awful hope that maybe they’re making it out of this alive—

A body slams into you and helmets clink together as Mark joins their little duo. Hands grab onto arms and the orange tether floats around them like silk ribbon as the sound of harsh breathing fills the comms.

“I got ‘em!” Lewis calls out, voice breaking and you smile, tilting your head forward against Lewis’ helmet. “I got ‘em.” Laughing, you grab onto Mark tightly and he glances at you for a moment before the two of you both look at Lewis.

“It’s good to see you,” he pants. “You… have terrible taste in music.”

As the tether tightens and they’re reeled in, you wrap an arm around Mark’s helmet and push yourself against him.

“Good job, Captain,” you cheer and he laughs, barely able to contain himself. A similar lightness fills your chest and you can’t help the stress-free laughs, the release of all that energy in your chest as you tilt your head back and laugh no matter how much it hurts to breathe. You’re pulled into the airlock and you detach first when you catch sight of Chris standing by the tether. Swimming towards him, you outstretch your arms and crash into him, helmets clinking.

“Beck, close the hatch.”

Chris’ arms wrapped around yours, he reaches to press the button as Lewis parks and Watney swims past to the other end of the airlock.

“Hey, guys.”

You haven’t seen your friends in more than a year, but right now, you’re only focused on one face. “Chris,” you whisper and his smile is everything in your universe as he touches your helmet, like he’s not quite sure you’re real.

“Houston,” Lewis’ breathless voice echoes in your ears as he pulls you in tightly for a hug. Your helmets scrape but you don’t care, simply melting into the arms of your best friend. “Seven crew safely aboard.”

The other end of the airlock hisses open and you detach yourself from Chris’ arms to see the other three swim in and you laugh, turning to your best friend with a huge smile. He holds you still, twisting off his gloves and helping you take off your helmet as you take off your own gloves and your cheeks are aching as your flesh touches cold glass. Until you can feel him, you won’t know it’s real.

And then his hands are on yours, and you know.

“Chris,” you repeat again, the name so familiar on your tongue you don’t know how you’ve gone a day without saying it. He reaches to take off his own helmet and wrinkles his nose when he first gets a whiff of you but you don’t care. You don’t care about impressions or smells or appearances anymore.

You just want him.

Flinging your arms around his neck, you tear off his stupid cap and run your fingers through his hair. It’s dry but downey between your fingers that have touched nothing but metal and plastic for more than a year and you cry. You bury your face into his neck and cry out his name as he simply squeezes you tight against him.

“I love you,” he chokes out and you pull back, cheeks brushing against yours as you smile. His small smile curls his lip and you brush the tear away from his face.

“I love you, too.”

“I love you, guys,” Mark cries out, barging into their conversation with a faux whimper and the newly reunited best friends part with a yelp as their whole crew wraps them in a huge hug.

Surrounded by so many bodies, you have never felt so warm and loved. When you meet Chris’ gaze, you feel the hole inside you begin to fill again.

DAY 1

“How’re you feeling?”

The soft mumble against your ear makes you blink away from the screen revealing the info dumps coming through, and you turn to look at Chris, eyes studiously on yours. That same soft smile is ever present on his lips as you shrug with a wince, and his eyes flit to your vitals. 

The med bay is empty except for Watney sleeping the drugs off and you place your hand gently on Chris’. His hand twists, fingers weaving with yours and you smile, easing into your pillows.

“Did you sleep here all night?” you ask quietly, raising an eyebrow and he shrugs, leaning onto your bed by the elbows and pressing your hand against his cheek.

The reunion was short-lived after their return. After all, there were injuries that needed to be assessed, malnutrition that needed to be addressed, a whole hygiene regime that needed to be followed, and a lot of sleep to catch up on.

“Maybe,” he whispers and you laugh, shaking your head free and patting his cheek. “I don’t want you out of my sight. I close my eyes and all I can imagine is losing you again.” Lips twitching into a frown, your eyebrows knit together at his kicked expression. You wonder if he can still read your message by memory as you know it by heart. “You scared the shit out of me, Y/N.”

“‘M sorry, Chris,” you murmur and he sighs, closing his eyes with a flutter of his eyelashes. Tears burn down his cheeks as he presses his lips together. “I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you.”

“It’s not your fault,” he replies. You scoot to the side of your bed despite your ribs yawning in pain and pat the small space beside you. “You need to rest, Y/N. Get back to sleep and I’ll hit you with a dose of the good stuff when you wake up,” he bargains but you still shake your head.

“I don’t need the good stuff,” you say. “I just need you.” His eyes widen just so and your smile grows as the warmth inside you spreads to your fingers. Moving your I.V. lines, you make sure the space is clear for him. “C’mon. Get up here.” He tilts his head, debating it in that brain of his before he gets off his chair, climbing carefully into the small bed. He slides an arm around your shoulders, settling onto his side and you sigh, shimmying closer once he settles. His heat wraps around you, his other arm draping across your chest. His nose nuzzles into your cheek and his breath puffs against your neck as you close your eyes.

Home. Finally home.

“Y/N?” you hear his mumble and you turn your face blindly towards him. He smells like antibiotic cream and sweat, and you barely open your eyes as he looks up at you, blue eyes filled with a tenderness that tells you you’re safe now. “I love you.”

“Yeah?” you whisper, and he smiles.

“Yeah.”

“Good. ‘Cause I love you, too.”

And he tilts his chin just so to kiss you. 

[seasonsofeverlark]

A Christmas Party (In Five Parts)

Author: @juxtaposie​

Prompt: Christmas party. secret santa. ginger bread house making. ugly christmas sweater contest. christmas song Karaoke. watching a christmas movie. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T for Katniss’ potty mouth

Summary: Six prompts, five snippets, two lovebirds, and one Christmas party

Author’s Note: 1832 words

______________

“Wow,” Peeta said when she came out of the bedroom. “That is a sweater.”

Katniss pulled at the hem self-consciously. The monstrosity was white, with candy cane striped sleeves, and featured a scene of teddy bears beneath a Christmas tree. “It was my dad’s.”

“Yeah?” he asked carefully, his eyes softening.

She nodded, reaching for her coat as an excuse to break eye contact. “My mom got him this sweater from Goodwill as a joke the first year they were married, but they were so poor it was the only gift she could really afford.”

“He must have liked the joke,” Peeta said as he shrugged into his own coat. “That’s the only reason I’d keep a sweater that ugly.”

“He loved it,” she replied quietly. “He loved everything about Christmas.”

***

“Shit,” Peeta swore, slamming on the brakes.

“Jesus,” Katniss responded when the seatbelt stopped strangling her. “What?”

He was already turning the car around. “I left the royal icing. We have to go back.”

“Peeta,” she sighed. “You’ve won every year since they started throwing this party.”

“Because I refuse to use that shitty icing that comes in the kit.”

“It’s twenty minutes back home,” she argued, “then twenty minutes back again. We’re already late.”

“It’s a giant party,” he said. “No one will notice if we’re late.”

“And no one is gonna beat your gingerbread house!”

“Fine,” he said begrudgingly, hitting the brakes just a little too hard again and throwing Katniss against the passenger door as he made a second u-turn. “You’re probably right.”

“And people ***will*** notice we’re late,” she insisted. “Remember when we were late to Finn’s first birthday?”

He laughed. “Yeah.”

“And now every time we’re late to anything they ask us if we were having sex.”

Still laughing, Peeta said, “I mean, they were right.”

Katniss swatted his leg when they parked on the street a few houses down from the Odair residence. “That’s not the point!”

He caught her hand, pulling her across the center console so he could kiss her. “Tell me more about how no one can beat my gingerbread house,” he said when they parted.

“Ugh!” Putting her hand on his face, Katniss pushed him away. “You’re so weird,” she said as she climbed out of the car.

***

“No,” she said firmly, after a long sip of her Moscow mule.

“Come on,” Finnick goaded.

“Please?” Annie asked sweetly.

“It’s Christmas,” Peeta reminded her.

“No,” she said again, draining her drink as they continued to plead. 

“Oh come on!” Johanna yelled. “Finnick got up there, and he’s basically tone deaf.”

“No,” Katniss said over her shoulder as she hauled herself off the couch and disappeared into the kitchen to mix another drink.

“Leave her alone, guys,” Gale said, loud enough to cut through all the chatter that followed her. “She hasn’t sung in front of anyone in years. She probably sucks.”

“I don’t suck,” she shouted back. A stronger drink was what she needed. At least half vodka.

But as she was pouring, Gale yelled, “Then you’re chicken shit,” and before she knew it she was back in the den, facing down Gale.

“I’m not chicken shit.”

He shrugged, shaking his head. “It’s fine. We’re all chicken shit about something.”

The room was so silent she could hear the ice clinking in Peeta’s glass as he shifted back and forth. Steeling herself, Katniss took a deep breath, gulped down all her vodka, and shoved the glass at Gale.

“Gimme the microphone.”

The room erupted into drunken cheers and Finnick handed over the bluetooth microphone.

“Put on Blue Christmas, Annie,” she ordered.

But when the first strain of “All I Want For Christmas is You” wafted from the speakers, it was clear everyone had been conspiring against her.

Fuck it, she thought. Move over Mariah Carey.

***

“Okay!” Finnick shouted, his face flushed from both alcohol and excitement. “You’ve got five minutes to find or make a gift from whatever you’ve got in your coat pockets or your car! Everyone got a name?”

The room thundered around her, the windows rattling as Finnick started counting them down. Peeta was pulling her out of the house and down the road to the car before he’d even reached zero, and with all the vodka in her stomach the cold felt far away.

“Who’d you get?” he asked, throwing open the driver’s seat.

“That’s cheating!” Katniss scolded as she started digging around in the glove box.

“Trade me?”

She laughed. “You got Johanna?”

He grimaced as he popped the trunk. “Worse - Gale.”

“Are you kidding?” She threw aside some napkins, and pocketed a half-finished pack of gum that had some potential. “Just grab the road flares.”

“You’re brilliant,” he said, slamming the trunk shut. “What about you?”

“I told you,” she huffed, her voice muffled as she leaned into the footwell, “that’s cheating.”

“You’re no fun.”

“And you’re too much fun.” Standing up, she held up a strip of gold foil squares. “Really?”

Peeta laughed, his cheeks flushing with more than the cold, and came around the car to wrap an arm around her waist. “I was sort of hoping I might get lucky later.”

“Well I hope you have more condoms,” she replied, “because I’m about to give these away.”

***

It was past three in the morning when Annie finally shooed the last guests out the front door. Stumbling tiredly back into the living room, she shook Finnick awake. “We’re going to bed,” she said through a yawn. “You sure you’re okay on the couch? The guest room is made up.”

“We’re comfy,” Peeta replied, his warm breath ghosting over Katniss’ cheek. 

Finnick dropped the remote on the coffee table. “Goodnight guys.”

“Goodnight,” Katniss responded sleepily. Peeta shifted beneath her as he reached for the remote and started clicking through the TV guide.

“White Christmas or It’s A Wonderful Life?” he asked.

Humming happily, she snuggled deeper into Peeta’s side, tightening her arm around his waist. “White Christmas. Blanket?”

“You got it,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head before pulling the faux-fur throw off the back of the couch and spreading it out over the both of them. On the TV, Rosemary Clooney and Vera-Ellen began arguing about love.

“Good Christmas party?” she asked as Peeta’s breathing began to even out.

“Any party with you is a good party,” he said, voice already rough with oncoming sleep.

She sighed. “Sap.”

“Pretend all you want,” he said, his arms tightening around her. “I know you secretly love it.”

“I do,” she admitted. “Merry Christmas Peeta.”

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

[ca311ach]

Mistake

#dekubaku #dkbk #bakudeku #bkdk

Warning: Major Character Death (?)

(Note: I hate sad endings. Keep that in mind.)

They were so close in the beginning...

Deku and katsuki have been growing apart. Deku’s working all the time, katsuki never sees him anymore— it’s almost as if he doesn’t want to be there. They never talk, never eat together, never go anywhere together, it’s all just work—they don’t even sleep together, Deku crashes at the office more often than not. Deku brushes it all off, says he really doesn’t have time for this conversation, they’ll talk later—

“Oh, will we? ‘Cause-“

“Yeah, sure, Kacchan, look, I really have to go-“

“Then maybe you shouldn’t fucking come back.” Katsuki’s angry, not really paying attention to the words coming out of his mouth. He regrets saying it almost immediately, clenches his jaw against the apology balanced on the edge of his tongue-

“Maybe I shouldn’t.” -only for it to dissipate and coat his throat in ashes. Deku’s still shoving clothes into his go bag, hasn’t looked up even once during the conversation. Like it doesn’t matter. Like their relationship and it’s impending end mean absolutely nothing to him. Katsuki stares, sinuses prickling, the room blurring just a little at the edges.

“do you... do you even love me anymore?” The question slips out before he can stop it. Dread drops heavily into his stomach, debris from the beating, breaking thing in his chest.

“...I’ll come by in the morning. Get my things.” Deku pauses, hesitates. Katsuki wants him to look up, to look at him. Just once. They’ve both always been so damn bad with words but they wear their hearts on their sleeves. If Deku would just look at him- “Bye.” Katsuki’s body goes cold. When Deku pushes past him, he does nothing. Stands on numb, shaky legs as the front door opens, shuts. No particular force behind it. No anger, no hesitation, just open and shut. It feels like a dismissal.

Suddenly, katsuki can’t be here anymore, in their shared space with the dozens of photos on the walls, the old worn out sofa with that weirdly shaped stain on the rightmost cushion, the out-of-place poster in the kitchen because katsuki isn’t good with surprises. The all might curtains in the living room because they’re both nerds, the football-sized Pomeranian plushy Deku got him because ‘it looks just like you’. That soap dispenser in the bathroom that looks kinda like a dick but Deku always says is an abstract cat. Their bed.

He stands in the door of their bedroom for a while, itching to leave but not wanting to run into Deku on his way out. What feels like hours later, he throws on a coat, grabs his keys, and rushes from the apartment like a culprit from a grisly crime scene.

He goes to Eijirou and Mina for the night. Their house is always open to him, a haven away from his empty home. He tries not to utilize it much, stubbornly denying his loneliness until the sleep deprivation starts to affect his work.

There’s a large scale villain attack the next day.

Number one hero Deku’s not there to answer the call. He and pro hero Shouto had left the country just that morning for a mission.

The villain has a metallurgy quirk that allows them to control and warp any magnetic metal within their vicinity. The greater the magnetism, the more control they have. They’ve been souped up on an unstable trigger knockoff, developed by an underground lab syndicate. As a result, their influence has expanded to a larger radius and to metals they wouldn’t typically be able to work with. Driven insane by the power, the villain is tearing apart the city of Fukuoka indiscriminately, tearing pipes up through the ground, supports from buildings, smashing cars into groups of civilians and using lampposts as oversized baseball bats. Smaller pieces of metal have become cannon balls, bullets. The civilian death toll is climbing, at least three heroes have been killed; the situation is horrific. Heroes from across Japan are called in to help.

Lemillion and his partner, Suneater, had been first to the scene, there when the perpetrator’s quirk spiraled out of control. They were rushed to the hospital before the roads had filled with flying debris and fleeing civilians. Gale is down for the count— the villain had used his quirk against him, sent hundreds of tiny projectiles to ride his wind and penetrate his skin. Creati managed to slow the villain’s trek across Fukuoka, distracting her with any number of non-metallic obstacles and distance-based weaponry. Unfortunately, the swirl of metal constantly rotating the villain thwarted any attempts at getting close. Plastic sedation bullets ricocheted off flying mufflers and mopeds. Ingenium had to rush in and grab her when she collapsed from exhaustion, narrowly avoiding a sharp piece of sheet metal, poised to slice them in half.

Dynamite arrives late alongside Pinky and Red Riot. He’d called in sick for the day, tired and numb, having spent the night staring at the wall of the Kirishimas’ guest bedroom. The couple had taken the day off, too, to keep an eye on Katsuki. None of them expected the urgent call from their superior, ordering them to Fukuoka /immediately/ to assist in taking down a level nine threat.

Dynamite goes into the fight determined to do the best he can, exhausted as he is, heartbroken and puffy eyed. He’s sloppy, reckless, pushes himself past his limits and then some. He’s shot with makeshift bullets, impaled with scraps, maimed by debris. He’s torn apart.

In the end, Dynamite wins the fight but Katsuki loses his life.

Izuku is watching the fight from Europe where he and Shouto have been temporarily commissioned. He feels helpless, guilty, even before Dynamite turns up on screen. Hasn’t been able to shake the heaviness in his chest since that morning, when he’d rushed to grab more of his things from their shared apartment before heading to the airport. The feeling only multiples when his husband appears on screen, builds from his stomach up to his throat. His chest hurts. He wishes he was there, he wishes he hadn’t left Kacchan like he had, with their relationship up in the air. They were going through a rough patch, and it’s not like he’d been trying to smooth it over at all. Katsuki was perfectly in his right to be angry, especially when Izuku repeatedly dismissed his concerns for the sake of work.

The Dynamite on screen was a mess, though it might not look like it to anyone else. Izuku knew his Kacchan, knew Dynamite, how he moved, how his attacks worked, the explicit precision behind his every maneuver. The Dynamite on screen was reckless and sloppy, throwing himself at the villain again and again. Izuku would swear that he could hear a sharp crunch the next time the villain grabs Dynamite with claws of sharp scrap metal and slams him into the ground.

Still, he blasts himself out of that crushing clutch, propels himself into the air, bleeding and bruised and so obviously broken despite the distance between the fight and the helicopter’s camera. Izuku wishes he could grab him, hold him down, tell him to ‘stop, already, dammit, you’re gonna die if you keep this up.’ But all he can do is watch as Dynamite once again throws himself at the villain, narrowly dodging her reaching, grabbing metal hands, to propel himself into the whirl of torn and splintered metal rotating around her.

He makes it through, disappears into the artificial twister. The circumference of the area he entered is dyed red, a skirt of blood and gore and proof that all the world watching may have just witnessed Dynamite getting shredded into bloody pulp. Izuku’s eyes water, the guilt and the helplessness and the love for his husband that could never fade, never in a million lifetimes, finally clog his throat. He can’t help it, though, the hope in his chest. He’s not dead. Katsuki is not dead.

The whirl of metal stops, suddenly. The scene on the television is completely still; he’d almost think the thing had frozen if not for the exclamations of the live reporter. And then it all falls, loudly, dramatically, a veritable ruckus that has almost everyone in the foreign office around him hurriedly blocking their ears. Izuku can’t move. Can’t breath. The camera zooms.

Dynamite stands over the prone body of the villain. He looks... horrific. Nightmarish. More blood and gore than body. The reporter gasps. The office around Izuku is silent.

Dynamite falls.

And Izuku goes cold.

No.

A winged hero, Blue Jay some part of him interjects, flies over, drops down to let the two medics they have in their arms tend to Dynamite. Uravity follows, hurriedly floating debris and pushing it to the side, making way for more medical personnel. Her movements are frantic.

Not like this.

They finally get the ambulance through, load dynamite in with practiced speed and, sirens wailing, take off across the screen. Blue jay kneels beside the still unconscious villain, grabs at Uravity’s arm to draw her distracted eyes away from a cause she can no longer do anything for.

Not like this, please.

Izuku takes the first flight he can find back to Japan, Shouto at his back. They’re off the flight the second it touches down, in a car not long after.

The hospital is a mess, handling an overload of casualties from the fight. So many civilians injured, so many heroes, too. It’s a struggle to break through bustling nurses and doctors and weeping families, but Izuku and Shouto get to the desk, are promptly sent back to the ER waiting room.

Hours pass, no one comes to talk to them. He and Shouto watch people come and go, watch doctors deliver the good, the bad, and the horrible. Finally, someone comes. Her jaw is clenched, her eyes wide but shuttered. She stares at them for a moment, Izuku and Shouto, and they stare back at her. When the tension reaches a boiling point, she takes a deep shuddering breath and, with a voice choked by grief, she says,

“I’m sorry.”

And Izuku’s world /shatters/.

[hockeysweetheart]

 Okay So This will Be The kisses ( and Talking about it) With Peeta   iOkay I’ll add the Grand total of Kisses here.....  

17 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in the Hunger Games  

9 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in Catching Fire 

3 In Mockingjay  ( and Some)  

And I am gonna be super petty Here How many times Did she kiss Gale 5 ONLY 5 TIMES.  ( I had to give him credit with the Kissing her on the cheek) 

 Here is a sort form of the Kisses. 

The Hunger Games 

1. on the cheek when Katniss said two can play at this game 

( These next ones are in the Cave or the Games) 

2. The second Kiss was to shut him up from saying I’m gonna die ( Yes the famous one Haymitch is like come on give me something to work with here) 

3. The third one was in the cave waking Peeta up 

4. The fourth one Katniss said it took a lot Including Kissing to get Peeta to Finish the Broth  ( So guessing more then one Kiss in here but I’ll count only one) 

5.  Peeta Kissed Katniss’s hand. And Katniss is like No more kisses until you eat.

6. So Katniss just Drugged Peeta and Says I wonder how Gale is taking these kisses 2 Seconds later she Kisses Peeta goodbye . In case she doesn’t return. 

7.  Katniss just wants the Games to End and they  Share a kiss.

8 The Kiss  This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another.

9. This Kiss Happened After the one that made her wanting more. 

10. This Kiss counts because yes their lips did touch. But its right after Peeta tells the story of him being in love with her forever since Kindergarten then that Kiss is ruined by the food arriving.

11. Katniss is thinking about Gale and kinda moves around in the freaking Sleeping Bag and wakes up Peeta which resolves in a long kiss. 

12.  They Kiss again before leaving the cave to go hunt for Food. 

13. Katniss is kinda being mean to Peeta kinda throwing the Romance out the window but then Realizes this Kisses Peeta and is like okay we can do  what you want 

14.  So this one Katniss kisses Peeta on the forhead because she is happy that she doesn’t have to face Cato Alone 

15.  This one is when they Both said listen  if we both Can’t win we both will die so Peeta gave Katniss a slow kiss. 

16. This Kiss Happened After the games when they reunite again at the  rewatch of the games 

17. During the Final interveiw they share a kiss.

Catching Fire

1. Their First Kiss is for the Cameras.  and Peeta is like I almost thought that kiss was real 

2. They kiss again After Peeta says he will give half of his winnings to District 11 fallen tributes 

3. They kiss a lot on the victory tour.  

4. After Katniss comes Back to her House after being in the woods when they are really forbidden.  She comes back to peacekeepers in her house and with no proof she was in the woods shes safe but she is injured.  And they Share a kiss in front of Everyone when she is making up this lie. 

5.Before the Games Peeta gives Katniss a kiss  ( After they spent the night together and says see you soon)

6. After Peeta is rescued by Finnick He gives Katniss a kiss we got allies 

7.  The Beach scene kiss ( We all know that one) 

8. Peeta Kisses Katniss after he said your gonna be a great mother 

9. The I’ll see you at midnight kiss. The last sane kiss of Peeta before hes taken in by the freaking Capitol

Mockingjay ( Since Peeta And Katniss are A part for half the book and Peeta is trying to kill Katniss they don’t  have as many kisses). 

1. This one I had to add becuase well yeah, When shes rubbing her lips on the pearl it’s like a cool kiss from the giver himself 

2. This kiss was when Peeta was going mad and then Katniss just kissed him thinking that might work which it did because she didn’t want to loose him again 

3. The growing back together kiss ( and some)  

A Grand total of 29 Kisses in the books Series by these two 

Now Bonus ones 

1. Catching Fire  After Peeta’s heart was restarted Katniss Kissed him this was not in the books.   

so grand total is 30 kisses  on all platforms the books and the movies. 

  So since Below is so Long I was feeling real petty and Decited to add Gales Kisses in here too 

1. The surprise Kiss  From Gale That snow knew about 

2. The Kiss after Gale got whipped and hes Basically sleeping

3. They kiss  in Mockingjay when Gale is like you kissed me here I’d have to be dead to forget that 

4. This Kiss Peeta is saved yet Hijacked and Basically Katniss has written off  and They Kiss and then Gale Ruins it

5. After  Leaving the awkward dinner Gale Kisses  Katniss on the Cheek 

Bonus ones 

Catching Fire Movie when they Kiss goodbye when Katniss is going back into the arena, 

So their grand total is 6... 

In the Hunger Games  ( Book) 

Chapter 5   But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.

Chapter 19, 

"Yes. Look, if I don't make it back  - " he begins. "Don't talk like that. I didn't drain all that pus for nothing," I say. "I know. But just in case I don't  - " he tries to continue. "No, Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it," I say, placing my fingers on his lips to quiet him. "But I  - " he insists. Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his words. This is probably overdue anyway since he's right, we are supposed to be madly in love. It's the first time I've ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever. I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag up around him. "You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?" "All right," he whispers.

A little Later on Chapter 19 

Haymitch couldn't be sending me a clearer message. One kiss equals one pot of broth. I can almost hear his snarl. "You're supposed to be in love, sweetheart. The boy's dying. Give me something I can work with!" And he's right. If I want to keep Peeta alive, I've got to give the audience something more to care about. Star-crossed lovers desperate to get home together. Two hearts beating as one. Romance. Never having been in love, this is going to be a real trick. I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother's face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died. "Peeta!" I say, trying for the special tone that my mother used only with my father. He's dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he'd be happy to lie there gazing at me forever. He's great at this stuff.

Chapter 20. 

Getting the broth into Peeta takes an hour of coaxing, begging, threatening, and yes, kissing, but finally, sip by sip, he empties the pot. I let him drift off to sleep then and attend to my own needs, wolfing down a supper of groosling and roots while I watch the daily report in the sky. No new casualties. Still, Peeta and I have given the audience a fairly interesting day. Hopefully, the Gamemakers will allow us a peaceful night.

Oh, right, the whole romance thing. I reach out to touch his cheek and he catches my hand and presses it against his lips. I remember my father doing this very thing to my mother and I wonder where Peeta picked it up. Surely not from his father and the witch.  ( Okay) Just in case why This part is isn here He Kissed her hand,  “No more kisses for you until you’ve eaten,” I say.

Chapter 21 ( Because I am being petty I added an extra bit) 

And Gale. I know him. He won’t be shouting and cheering. But he’ll be watching, every moment, every twist and turn, and willing me to come home. I wonder if he’s hoping that Peeta makes it as well. Gale’s not my boyfriend, but would he be, if I opened that door? He talked about us running away together. Was that just a practical calculation of our chances of survival away from the district? Or something more? I wonder what he makes of all this kissing. Through a crack in the rocks, I watch the moon cross the sky. At what I judge to be about three hours before dawn, I begin final preparations. I’m careful to leave Peeta with water and the medical kit right beside him. Nothing else will be of much use if I don’t return, and even these would only prolong his life a short time. After some debate, I strip him of his jacket and zip it on over my own. He doesn’t need it. Not now in the sleeping bag with his fever, and during the day, if I’m not there to remove it, he’ll be roasting in it. My hands are already stiff from cold, so I take Rue’s spare pair of socks, cut holes for my fingers and thumbs, and pull them on. It helps anyway. I fill her small pack with some food, a water bottle, and bandages, tuck the knife in my belt, get my bow and arrows. I’m about to leave when I remember the importance of sustaining the star-crossed lover routine and I lean over and give Peeta a long, lingering kiss. I imagine the teary sighs emanating from the Capitol and pretend to brush away a tear of my own. Then I squeeze through the opening in the rocks out into the night.

Chapter 22

  I give him another answer, because it is equally true but can be taken as a brief moment of weakness instead of a terminal one. "I want to go home, Peeta," I say plaintively, like a small child. "You will. I promise," he says, and bends over to give me a kiss. 

Chapter 22 ( The Kiss) 

I fumble. I’m not as smooth with words as Peeta. And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don’t want him to die. And it’s not about the sponsors. And it’s not about what will happen back home. And it’s not just that I don’t want to be alone. It’s him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread. “If what, Katniss?” he says softly. I wish I could pull the shutters closed, blocking out this moment from the prying eyes of Panem. Even if it means losing food. Whatever I’m feeling, it’s no one’s business but mine. “Then I’ll just have to fill in the blanks myself,” he says, and moves in to me. This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another. But I don’t get it. Well, I do get a second kiss, but it’s just a light one on the tip of my nose because Peeta’s been distracted. “I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it’s bedtime anyway,” he says.

Chapter 22   ( Okay I had too add in this whole freaking part in) 

"Peeta," I say lightly. "You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?" "Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair. it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up," Peeta says. "Your father? Why?" I ask. "He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,'" Peeta says. "What? You're making that up!" I exclaim. "No, true story," Peeta says. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings. even the birds stop to listen.'" "That's true. They do. I mean, they did," I say. I'm stunned and surprisingly moved, thinking of the baker telling this to Peeta. It strikes me that my own reluctance to sing, my own dismissal of music might not really be that I think it's a waste of time. It might be because it reminds me too much of my father. "So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent," Peeta says. "Oh, please," I say, laughing. "No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew  -  just like your mother  -  I was a goner," Peeta says. "Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you." "Without success," I add. "Without success. So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck," says Peeta. For a moment, I'm almost foolishly happy and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we're supposed to be making up this stuff, playing at being in love not actually being in love. But Peeta's story has a ring of truth to it. That part about my father and the birds. And I did sing the first day of school, although I don't remember the song. And that red plaid dress. there was one, a hand-me-down to Prim that got washed to rags after my father's death. It would explain another thing, too. Why Peeta took a beating to give me the bread on that awful hollow day. So, if those details are true. could it all be true? "You have a. remarkable memory," I say haltingly. "I remember everything about you," says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention." "I am now," I say. "Well, I don't have much competition here," he says. I want to draw away, to close those shutters again, but I know I can't. It's as if I can hear Haymitch whispering in my ear, "Say it! Say it!" I swallow hard and get the words out. "You don't have much competition anywhere." And this time, it's me who leans in. Our lips have just barely touched when the clunk outside makes us jump. My bow comes up, the arrow ready to fly, but there's no other sound. Peeta peers through the rocks and then gives a whoop. Before I can stop him, lie's out in the rain, then handing something in to me. A silver parachute attached to a basket. I rip it open at once and inside there's a feast  -  fresh rolls, goat cheese, apples, and best of all, a tureen of that incredible lamb stew on wild rice. The very dish I told Caesar Flickerman was the most impressive thing the Capitol had to offer.  

Chapter 23 

The sun eventually rises, its light slipping through the cracks and illuminating Peeta’s face. Who will he transform into if we make it home? This perplexing, good-natured boy who can spin out lies so convincingly the whole of Panem believes him to be hopelessly in love with me, and I’ll admit it, there are moments when he makes me believe it myself? At least, we’ll be friends, I think. Nothing will change the fact that we’ve saved each other’s lives in here. And beyond that, he will always be the boy with the bread. Good friends. Anything beyond that though. and I feel Gale’s gray eyes watching me watching Peeta, all the way from District 12. Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta’s shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss.

“We’re wasting hunting time,” I say when I finally break away. “I wouldn’t call it wasting,” he says giving a big stretch as he sits up. “So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?”

He grabs my hand away. “What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now,” says Peeta, pulling me to him. “Come on,” I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss

Chapter 24

“We’re wasting hunting time,” I say when I finally break away. “I wouldn’t call it wasting,” he says giving a big stretch as he sits up. “So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?”

He grabs my hand away. “What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now,” says Peeta, pulling me to him. “Come on,” I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss

By the time we reach our destination, our feet are dragging and the sun sits low on the horizon. We fill up our water bottles and climb the little slope to our den. It’s not much, but out here in the wilderness, it’s the closest thing we have to a home. It will be warmer than a tree, too, because it provides some shelter from the wind that has begun to blow steadily in from the west. I set a good dinner out, but halfway through Peeta begins to nod off. After days of inactivity, the hunt has taken its toll. I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so grateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought. So glad that I don’t have to face Cato alone.  

Chapter 26. 

My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. "No, I won't let you." "Trust me," I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets me go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. "On the count of three?" Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. "The count of three," he says.

Chapter 27

Blinding lights. The deafening roar rattles the metal under my feet. Then there’s Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms. He staggers back, almost losing his balance, and that’s when I realize the slim, metal contraption in his hand is some kind of cane. He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He’s kissing me and all the time I’m thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we’re in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his shoulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. The audience goes berserk. Whether he knows or not, Peeta is, as usual, playing the crowd exactly right

Finally, Haymitch interrupts us and gives us a good-natured shove toward the victor’s chair. Usually, this is a single, ornate chair from which the winning tribute watches a film of the highlights of the Games, but since there are two of us, the Gamemakers have provided a plush red velvet couch. A small one, my mother would call it a love seat, I think. I sit so close to Peeta that I’m practically on his lap, but one look from Haymitch tells me it isn’t enough. Kicking off my sandals, I tuck my feet to the side and lean my head against Peeta’s shoulder. His arm goes around me automatically, and I feel like I’m back in the cave, curled up against him, trying to keep warm. His shirt is made of the same yellow material as my dress, but Portia’s put him in long black pants. No sandals, either, but a pair of sturdy black boots he keeps solidly planted on the stage. I wish Cinna had given me a similar outfit, I feel so vulnerable in this flimsy dress. But I guess that was the point.

Chapter 27. 

Things pick up for me once they’ve announced two tributes from the same district can live and I shout out Peeta’s name and then clap my hands over my mouth. If I’ve seemed indifferent to him earlier, I make up for it now, by finding him, nursing him back to health, going to the feast for the medicine, and being very free with my kisses. Objectively, I can see the mutts and Cato’s death are as gruesome as ever, but again, I feel it happens to people I have never met. And then comes the moment with the berries. I can hear the audience hushing one another, not wanting to miss anything. A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta’s name as they try to revive him. In terms of survival, it’s my best moment all night.

Behind a cameraman, I see Haymitch give a sort of huff with relief and I know I’ve said the right thing. Caesar pulls out a handkerchief and has to take a moment because he’s so moved. I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, “So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”

I turn in to him. “Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.” And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh.  

Chapter 27 ( Peeta finds out the truth) ( Okay No Kisses in this part but  This part honestly Just says so much)

When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we’re allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There’s no longer any need to guard us. Peeta and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can’t find anything to say now that we’re alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can’t know that the pink-and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I’ve spent gathering them with Gale.

Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. “Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay.” I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta’s eyes. “What’s he mean?” Peeta asks me. “It’s the Capitol. They didn’t like our stunt with the berries,” I blurt out. “What? What are you talking about?” he says. “It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse,” I say. “Coaching you? But not me,” says Peeta. “He knew you were smart enough to get it right,” I say. “I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” says Peeta. “So, what you’re saying is, these last few days and then I guess. back in the arena. that was just some strategy you two worked out.” “No. I mean, I couldn’t even talk to him in the arena, could I?” I stammer. “But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn’t you?” says Peeta. I bite my lip. “Katniss?” He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance. “It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.” “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding onto my flowers. “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says. “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming. “Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.

I know my ears are healed because, even with the rumble of the engine, I can hear every step he takes back to the train. By the time I’ve climbed aboard, Peeta has disappiared into his room for the night. I don’t see him the next morning, either. In fact, the next time he turns up, we’re pulling into District 12. He gives me a nod, his face expressionless. I want to tell him that he’s not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can’t explain how things are with Gale because I don’t know myself. That it’s no good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we’ve just been through? I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn’t be fair on my part. So we just stand there silently, watching our grimy little station rise up around us. Through the window, I can see the platform’s thick with cameras. Everyone will be eagerly watching our homecoming. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. “One more time? For the audience?” he says. His voice isn’t angry. It’s hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

Catching fire 

Chapter 3

My face breaks into a huge smile and I start walking in Peeta’s direction. Then, as if I can’t stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips - he still isn’t entirely in command of his artificial leg - and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that’s where we have our first kiss in months. It’s full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything. And I know I’m not alone. As badly as I have hurt him, he won’t expose me in front of the cameras. Won’t condemn me with a halfhearted kiss. He’s still looking out for me. Just as he did in the arena. Somehow the thought makes me want to cry. Instead I pull him to his feet, tuck my glove through the crook of his arm, and merrily pull him on our way. 

Chapter 4

Favourite colour

After a while I hear footsteps behind me. It’ll be Haymitch, coming to chew me out. It’s not like I don’t deserve it, but I still don’t want to hear it. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture,” I warn the clump of weeds by my shoes. “I’ll try to keep it brief.” Peeta takes a seat beside me. “I thought you were Haymitch,” I say. “No, he’s still working on that muffin.” I watch as Peeta positions his artificial leg. “Bad day, huh?” “It’s nothing,” I say. He takes a deep breath. “Look, Katniss, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the way I acted on the train. I mean, the last train. The one that brought us home. I knew you had something with Gale. I was jealous of him before I even officially met you. And it wasn’t fair to hold you to anything that happened in the Games. I’m sorry.” His apology takes me by surprise. It’s true that Peeta froze me out after I confessed that my love for him during the Games was something of an act. But I don’t hold that against him. In the arena, I’d played that romance angle for all it was worth. There had been times when I didn’t honestly know how I felt about him. I still don’t, really. “I’m sorry, too,” I say. I’m not sure for what exactly. Maybe because there’s a real chance I’m about to destroy him. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. You were just keeping us alive. But I don’t want us to go on like this, ignoring each other in real life and falling into the snow every time there’s a camera around. So I thought if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at just being friends,” he says. All my friends are probably going to end up dead, but refusing Peeta wouldn’t keep him safe. “Okay,” I say. His offer does make me feel better. Less duplicitous somehow. It would be nice if he’d come to me with this earlier, before I knew that President Snow had other plans and just being friends was not an option for us anymore. But either way, I’m glad we’re speaking again. “So what’s wrong?” he asks. I can’t tell him. I pick at the clump of weeds. “Let’s start with something more basic. Isn’t it strange that I know you’d risk your life to save mine … but I don’t know what your favorite color is?” he says. A smile creeps onto my lips. “Green. What’s yours?” “Orange,” he says. “Orange? Like Effie’s hair?” I say. “A bit more muted,” he says. “More like … sunset.” Sunset. I can see it immediately, the rim of the descending sun, the sky streaked with soft shades of orange. Beautiful. I remember the tiger lily cookie and, now that Peeta is talking to me again, it’s all I can do not to recount the whole story about President Snow. But I know Haymitch wouldn’t want me to. I’d better stick to small talk. “You know, everyone’s always raving about your paintings. I feel bad I haven’t seen them,” I say. “Well, I’ve got a whole train car full.” He rises and offers me his hand. “Come on.” It’s good to feel his fingers entwined with mine again, not for show but in actual friendship. We walk back to the train hand in hand.

Chapter 4

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch’s voice. “You could do a lot worse.” At this moment, it’s impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift … it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn’t seem forced at all.

Chapter 5

We descend the steps and are sucked into what becomes an indistinguishable round of dinners, ceremonies, and train rides. Each day it’s the same. Wake up. Get dressed. Ride through cheering crowds. Listen to a speech in our honor. Give a thank-you speech in return, but only the one the Capitol gave us, never any personal additions now. Sometimes a brief tour: a glimpse of the sea in one district, towering forests in another, ugly factories, fields of wheat, stinking refineries. Dress in evening clothes. Attend dinner. Train. During ceremonies, we are solemn and respectful but always linked together, by our hands, our arms. At dinners, we are borderline delirious in our love for each other. We kiss, we dance, we get caught trying to sneak away to be alone. On the train, we are quietly miserable as we try to assess what effect we might be having.

Cinna begins to take in my clothes around the waist. The prep team frets over the circles under my eyes. Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. Not well enough. I drift off only to be roused by nightmares that have increased in number and intensity. Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms, guarding against dangers that can descend at any moment. Nothing else happens, but our arrangement quickly becomes a subject of gossip on the train.

Chapter 6 On the way home

When I open my eyes, it’s early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta’s arm. I don’t remember him coming in last night. I turn, being careful not to disturb him, but he’s already awake. “No nightmares,” he says. “What?” I ask. “You didn’t have any nightmares last night,” he says. He’s right. For the first time in ages I’ve slept through the night. “I had a dream, though,” I say, thinking back. “I was following a mockingjay through the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice.” “Where did she take you?” he says, brushing my hair off my forehead. “I don’t know. We never arrived,” I say. “But I felt happy.” “Well, you slept like you were happy,” he says. “Peeta, how come I never know when you’re having a nightmare?” I say. “I don’t know. I don’t think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror,” he says. “You should wake me,” I say, thinking about how I can interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it can take to calm me down. “It’s not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you,” he says. “I’m okay once I realize you’re here.”

Ugh. Peeta makes comments like this in such an offhand way, and it’s like being hit in the gut. He’s only answering my question honestly. He’s not pressing me to reply in kind, to make any declaration of love. But I still feel awful, as if I’ve been using him in some terrible way. Have I? I don’t know. I only know that for the first time, I feel immoral about him being here in my bed. Which is ironic since we’re officially engaged now. “Be worse when we’re home and I’m sleeping alone again,” he says. That’s right, we’re almost home. 

 Chapter 9     I am being petty yes for this Part...

“I’ve heard worse,” she says . “You’ve seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain.” Someone they love. The words numb my tongue as if it’s been packed in snow coat. Of course, I love Gale. But what kind of love does she mean? What do I mean when I say I love Gale? I don’t know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But I’m sure he doesn’t remember it. Does he? I hope not. If he does, everything will just get more complicated and I really can’t think about kissing when I’ve got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it. “Where’s Peeta?” I say. “He went home when we heard you stirring. Didn’t want to leave his house unattended during the storm,” says my mother. “Did he get back all right?” I ask. In a blizzard, you can get lost in a matter of yards and wander off course into oblivion. “Why don’t you give him a call and check?” she says. 

Chaper 11  Katniss comes home to a surprise I freaking love this part

By the time I reach my house, my left heel will bear no weight at all. I decide to tell my mother I was trying to mend a leak in the roof of our old house and slid off. As for the missing food, I’ll just be vague about who I handed it out to. I drag myself in the door, all ready to collapse in front of the fire. But instead I get another shock. Two Peacekeepers, a man and a woman, are standing in the doorway to our kitchen. The woman remains impassive, but I catch the flicker of surprise on the man’s face. I am unanticipated. They know I was in the woods and should be trapped there now. “Hello,” I say in a neutral voice. My mother appears behind them, but keeps her distance. “Here she is, just in time for dinner,” she says a little too brightly. I’m very late for dinner. I consider removing my boots as I normally would but doubt I can manage it without revealing my injuries. Instead I just pull off my wet hood and shake the snow from my hair. “Can I help you with something?” I ask the Peacekeepers. “Head Peacekeeper Thread sent us with a message for you,” says the woman. “They’ve been waiting for hours,” my mother adds. They’ve been waiting for me to fail to return. To confirm I got electrocuted by the fence or trapped in the woods so they could take my family in for questioning. “Must be an important message,” I say. “May we ask where you’ve been, Miss Everdeen?” the woman asks. “Easier to ask where I haven’t been,” I say with a sound of exasperation. I cross into the kitchen, forcing myself to use my foot normally even though every step is excruciating. I pass between the Peacekeepers and make it to the table all right. I fling my bag down and turn to Prim, who’s standing stiffly by the hearth. Haymitch and Peeta are there as well, sitting in a pair of matching rockers, playing a game of chess. Were they here by chance or “invited” by the Peacekeepers? Either way, I’m glad to see them. “So where haven’t you been?” says Haymitch in a bored voice. “Well, I haven’t been talking to the Goat Man about getting Prim’s goat pregnant, because someone gave me completely inaccurate information as to where he lives,” I say to Prim emphatically. “No, I didn’t,” says Prim. “I told you exactly.” “You said he lives beside the west entrance to the mine,” I say. “The east entrance,” Prim corrects me. “You distinctly said the west, because then I said, 'Next to the slag heap?’ and you said, 'Yeah,’” I say. “The slag heap next to the east entrance,” says Prim patiently. “No. When did you say that?” I demand. “Last night,” Haymitch chimes in. “It was definitely the east,” adds Peeta. He looks at Haymitch and they laugh. I glare at Peeta and he tries to look contrite. “I’m sorry, but it’s what I’ve been saying. You don’t listen when people talk to you.” “Bet people told you he didn’t live there today and you didn’t listen again,” says Haymitch. “Shut up, Haymitch,” I say, clearly indicating he’s right. Haymitch and Peeta crack up and Prim allows herself a smile. “Fine. Somebody else can arrange to get the stupid goat knocked up,” I say, which makes them laugh more. And I think, This is why they’ve made it this far, Haymitch and Peeta. Nothing throws them. I look at the Peacekeepers. The man’s smiling but the woman is unconvinced. “What’s in the bag?” she asks sharply.

I know she’s hoping for game or wild plants. Something that clearly condemns me. I dump the contents on the table. “See for yourself.”

“Oh, good,” says my mother, examining the cloth. “We’re running low on bandages.”

Peeta comes to the table and opens the candy bag. “Ooh, peppermints,” he says, popping one in his mouth.

“They’re mine.” I take a swipe for the bag. He tosses it to Haymitch, who stuffs a fistful of sweets in his mouth before passing the bag to a giggling Prim. “None of you deserves candy!” I say.

“What, because we’re right?” Peeta wraps his arms around me. I give a small yelp of pain as my tailbone objects. I try to turn it into a sound of indignation, but I can see in his eyes that he knows I’m hurt. “Okay, Prim said west. I distinctly heard west. And we’re all idiots. How’s that?”

“Better,” I say, and accept his kiss. Then I look at the Peacekeepers as if I’m suddenly remembering they’re there. “You have a message for me?”

“From Head Peacekeeper Thread,” says the woman. “He wanted you to know that the fence surrounding District Twelve will now have electricity twenty-four hours a day.”

“Didn’t it already?” I ask, a little too innocently.

“He thought you might be interested in passing this information on to your cousin,” says the woman.

“Thank you. I’ll tell him. I’m sure we’ll all sleep a little more soundly now that security has addressed that lapse.” I’m pushing things, I know it, but the comment gives me a sense of satisfaction.

The woman’s jaw tightens. None of this has gone as planned, but she has no further orders. She gives me a curt nod and leaves, the man trailing in her wake. When my mother has locked the door behind them, I slump against the table.

Chapter 11  They all know Katniss is hurt and Peeta is literally the sweetest human out there

“What is it?” says Peeta, holding me steadily. “Oh, I banged up my left foot. The heel. And my tail-bone’s had a bad day, too.” He helps me over to one of the rockers and I lower myself onto the padded cushion. My mother eases off my boots. “What happened?” “I slipped and fell,” I say. Four pairs of eyes look at me with disbelief. “On some ice.” But we all know the house must be bugged and it’s not safe to talk openly. Not here, not now. Having stripped off my sock, my mother’s fingers probe the bones in my left heel and I wince. “There might be a break,” she says. She checks the other foot. “This one seems all right.” She judges my tailbone to be badly bruised. My mother gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose of sleep syrup, and my eyelids begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I’m so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there. A side effect of the sleep syrup is that it makes people less inhibited, like white liquor, and I know I have to control my tongue. But I don’t want him to go. In fact, I want him to climb in with me, to be there when the nightmares hit tonight. For some reason that I can’t quite form, I know I’m not allowed to ask that. “Don’t go yet. Not until I fall asleep,” I say. Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his. “Almost thought you’d changed your mind today. When you were late for dinner.” I’m foggy but I can guess what he means. With the fence going on and me showing up late and the Peacekeepers waiting, he thought I’d made a run for it, maybe with Gale. “No, I’d have told you,” I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today. I want to tell him about Twill and Bonnie and the uprising and the fantasy of District 13, but it’s not safe to and I can feel myself slipping away, so I just get out one more sentence. “Stay with me.” As the tendrils of sleep syrup pull me down, I hear him whisper a word back, but I don’t quite catch it.

I’m further reassured when Peeta casually tells me the power is off in sections of the fence because crews are out securing the base of the chain link to the ground. Thread must believe I somehow got under the thing, even with that deadly current running through it. It’s a break for the district, having the Peacekeepers busy doing something besides abusing people. Peeta comes by every day to bring me cheese buns and begins to help me work on the family book. It’s an old thing, made of parchment and leather. Some herbalist on my mother’s side of the family started it ages ago. The book’s composed of page after page of ink drawings of plants with descriptions of their medical uses. My father added a section on edible plants that was my guidebook to keeping us alive after his death. For a long time, I’ve wanted to record my own knowledge in it. Things I learned from experience or from Gale, and then the information I picked up when I was training for the Games. I didn’t because I’m no artist and it’s so crucial that the pictures are drawn in exact detail. That’s where Peeta comes in. Some of the plants he knows already, others we have dried samples of, and others I have to describe. He makes sketches on scrap paper until I’m satisfied they’re right, then I let him draw them in the book. After that, I carefully print all I know about the plant. It’s quiet, absorbing work that helps take my mind off my troubles. I like to watch his hands as he works, making a blank page bloom with strokes of ink, adding touches of color to our previously black and yellowish book. His face takes on a special look when he concentrates. His usual easy expression is replaced by something more intense and removed that suggests an entire world locked away inside him. I’ve seen flashes of this before: in the arena, or when he speaks to a crowd, or that time he shoved the Peacekeepers’ guns away from me in District 11. I don’t know quite what to make of it. I also become a little fixated on his eyelashes, which ordinarily you don’t notice much because they’re so blond. But up close, in the sunlight slanting in from the window, they’re a light golden color and so long I don’t see how they keep from getting all tangled up when he blinks. One afternoon Peeta stops shading a blossom and looks up so suddenly that I start, as though I were caught spying on him, which in a strange way maybe I was. But he only says, “You know, I think this is the first time we’ve ever done anything normal together.” “Yeah,” I agree. Our whole relationship has been tainted by the Games. Normal was never a part of it. “Nice for a change.” Each afternoon he carries me downstairs for a change of scenery and I unnerve everyone by turning on the television. Usually we only watch when it’s mandatory, because the mixture of propaganda and displays of the Capitol’s power - including clips from seventy-four years of Hunger Games - is so odious. But now I’m looking for something special. The mockingjay that Bonnie and Twill are basing all their hopes on. I know it’s probably foolishness, but if it is, I want to rule it out. And erase the idea of a thriving District 13 from my mind for good.

Chapter 12

Staying quietly in bed is harder after that. I want to be doing something, finding out more about District 13 or helping in the cause to bring down the Capitol. Instead I sit around stuffing myself with cheese buns and watching Peeta sketch. Haymitch stops by occasionally to bring me news from town, which is always bad. More people being punished or dropping from starvation.

Chapter 13

“Thanks,” I say. I should go see Peeta now, but I don’t want to. My head’s spinning from the drink, and I’m so wiped out, who knows what he could get me to agree to? No, now I have to go home to face my mother and Prim. As I stagger up the steps to my house, the front door opens and Gale pulls me into his arms. “I was wrong. We should have gone when you said,” he whispers. “No,” I say. I’m having trouble focusing, and liquor keeps sloshing out of my bottle and down the back of Gale’s jacket, but he doesn’t seem to care. “It’s not too late,” he says. Over his shoulder, I see my mother and Prim clutching each other in the doorway. We run. They die. And now I’ve got Peeta to protect. End of discussion. “Yeah, it is.” My knees give way and he’s holding me up. As the alcohol overcomes my mind, I hear the glass bottle shatter on the floor. This seems appropriate since I have obviously lost my grip on everything.

Chapter 14 ( Okay this hug tho)

So I go to bed and, sure enough, within a few hours I awake from a nightmare where that old woman from District 4 transforms into a large rodent and gnaws on my face. I know I was screaming, but no one comes. Not Peeta, not even one of the Capitol attendants. I pull on a robe to try to calm the gooseflesh crawling over my body. Staying in my compartment is impossible, so I decide to go find someone to make me tea or hot chocolate or anything. Maybe Haymitch is still up. Surely he isn’t asleep. I order warm milk, the most calming thing I can think of, from an attendant. Hearing voices from the television room, I go in and find Peeta. Beside him on the couch is the box Effie sent of tapes of the old Hunger Games. I recognize the episode in which Brutus became victor. Peeta rises and flips off the tape when he sees me. “Couldn’t sleep?” “Not for long,” I say. I pull the robe more securely around me as I remember the old woman transforming into the rodent. “Want to talk about it?” he asks. Sometimes that can help, but I just shake my head, feeling weak that people I haven’t even fought yet already haunt me. When Peeta holds out his arms, I walk straight into them. It’s the first time since they announced the Quarter Quell that he’s offered me any sort of affection. He’s been more like a very demanding trainer, always pushing, always insisting Haymitch and I run faster, eat more, know our enemy better. Lover? Forget about that. He abandoned any pretense of even being my friend. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck before he can order me to do push-ups or something. Instead he pulls me in close and buries his face in my hair. Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips just touch my neck, slowly spreading through the rest of me. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that I know I will not be the first to let go. And why should I? I have said good-bye to Gale. I’ll never see him again, that’s for certain. Nothing I do now can hurt him. He won’t see it or he’ll think I am acting for the cameras. That, at least, is one weight off my shoulders. The arrival of the Capitol attendant with the warm milk is what breaks us apart. He sets a tray with a steaming ceramic jug and two mugs on a table. “I brought an extra cup,” he says. “Thanks,” I say. “And I added a touch of honey to the milk. For sweetness. And just a pinch of spice,” he adds. He looks at us like he wants to say more, then gives his head a slight shake and backs out of the room. “What’s with him?” I say. “I think he feels bad for us,” says Peeta. “Right,” I say, pouring the milk. “I mean it. I don’t think the people in the Capitol are going to be all that happy about our going back in,” says Peeta. “Or the other victors. They get attached to their champions.” “I’m guessing they’ll get over it once the blood starts flowing,” I say flatly. Really, if there’s one thing I don’t have time for, it’s worrying about how the Quarter Quell will affect the mood in the Capitol. “So, you’re watching all the tapes again?”

“Okay,” Peeta agrees. He puts in the tape and I curl up next to him on the couch with my milk, which is really delicious with the honey and spices, and lose myself in the Fiftieth Hunger Games. After the anthem, they show President Snow drawing the envelope for the second Quarter Quell. He looks younger but just as repellent. He reads from the square of paper in the same onerous voice he used for ours, informing Panem that in honor of the Quarter Quell, there will be twice the number of tributes. The editors smash cut right into the reapings, where name after name after name is called.  

Peeta clicks off the tape and we sit there in silence for a while.

Chapter 17

Peeta walks me down to my room in silence, but before he can say good night, I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his chest. His hands slide up my back and his cheek leans against my hair. “I’m sorry if I made things worse,” I say. “No worse than I did. Why did you do it, anyway?” he says. “I don’t know. To show them that I’m more than just a piece in their Games?” I say. He laughs a little, no doubt remembering the night before the Games last year. We were on the roof, neither of us able to sleep. Peeta had said something of the sort then, but I hadn’t understood what he meant. Now I do. “Me, too,” he tells me. “And I’m not saying I’m not going to try. To get you home, I mean. But if I’m perfectly honest about it …” “If you’re perfectly honest about it, you think President Snow has probably given them direct orders to make sure we die in the arena anyway,” I say. “It’s crossed my mind,” says Peeta. It’s crossed my mind, too. Repeatedly. But while I know I’ll never leave that arena alive, I’m still holding on to the hope that Peeta will. After all, he didn’t pull out those berries, I did. No one has ever doubted that Peeta’s defiance was motivated by love. So maybe President Snow will prefer keeping him alive, crushed and heartbroken, as a living warning to others. “But even if that happens, everyone will know we’ve gone out fighting, right?” Peeta asks. “Everyone will,” I reply. And for the first time, I distance myself from the personal tragedy that has consumed me since they announced the Quell. I remember the old man they shot in District 11, and Bonnie and Twill, and the rumored uprisings. Yes, everyone in the districts will be watching me to see how I handle this death sentence, this final act of President Snow’s dominance. They will be looking for some sign that their battles have not been in vain. If I can make it clear that I’m still defying the Capitol right up to the end, the Capitol will have killed me … but not my spirit. What better way to give hope to the rebels? The beauty of this idea is that my decision to keep Peeta alive at the expense of my own life is itself an act of defiance. A refusal to play the Hunger Games by the Capitol’s rules. My private agenda dovetails completely with my public one. And if I really could save Peeta … in terms of a revolution, this would be ideal. Because I will be more valuable dead. They can turn me into some kind of martyr for the cause and paint my face on banners, and it will do more to rally people than anything I could do if I was living. But Peeta would be more valuable alive, and tragic, because he will be able to turn his pain into words that will transform people. Peeta would lose it if he knew I was thinking any of this, so I only say, “So what should we do with our last few days?”

“I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you,” Peeta replies.

“Come on, then,” I say, pulling him into my room.

It feels like such a luxury, sleeping with Peeta again. I didn’t realize until now how starved I’ve been for human closeness. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness. I wish I hadn’t wasted the last couple of nights shutting him out. I sink down into sleep, enveloped in his warmth, and when I open my eyes again, daylight’s streaming through the windows.

“No nightmares,” he says.

“No nightmares,” I confirm. “You?”

“None. I’d forgotten what a real night’s sleep feels like,” he says.

We lie there for a while, in no rush to begin the day. Tomorrow night will be the televised interview, so today Effie and Haymitch should be coaching us. More high heels and sarcastic comments, I think. But then the redheaded Avox girl comes in with a note from Effie saying that, given our recent tour, both she and Haymitch have agreed we can handle ourselves adequately in public. The coaching sessions have been canceled.

“Really?” says Peeta, taking the note from my hand and examining it. “Do you know what this means? We’ll have the whole day to ourselves.”

“It’s too bad we can’t go somewhere,” I say wistfully.

“Who says we can’t?” he asks.

The roof. We order a bunch of food, grab some blankets, and head up to the roof for a picnic. A daylong picnic in the flower garden that tinkles with wind chimes. We eat. We lie in the sun. I snap off hanging vines and use my newfound knowledge from training to practice knots and weave nets. Peeta sketches me. We make up a game with the force field that surrounds the roof - one of us throws an apple into it and the other person has to catch it.

No one bothers us. By late afternoon, I lie with my head on Peeta’s lap, making a crown of flowers while he fiddles with my hair, claiming he’s practicing his knots. After a while, his hands go still. “What?” I ask.

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever,” he says.

Usually this sort of comment, the kind that hints of his undying love for me, makes me feel guilty and awful. But I feel so warm and relaxed and beyond worrying about a future I’ll never have, I just let the word slip out. “Okay.”

I can hear the smile in his voice. “Then you’ll allow it?”

“I’ll allow it,” I say.

His fingers go back to my hair and I doze off, but he rouses me to see the sunset. It’s a spectacular yellow and orange blaze behind the skyline of the Capitol. “I didn’t think you’d want to miss it,” he says.

“Thanks,” I say. Because I can count on my fingers the number of sunsets I have left, and I don’t want to miss any of them.

We don’t go and join the others for dinner, and no one summons us.

“I’m glad. I’m tired of making everyone around me so miserable,” says Peeta. “Everybody crying. Or Haymitch …” He doesn’t need to go on.

We stay on the roof until bedtime and then quietly slip down to my room without encountering anyone.

The next morning, we’re roused by my prep team. The sight of Peeta and me sleeping together is too much for Octavia, because she bursts into tears right away. “You remember what Cinna told us,” Venia says fiercely. Octavia nods and goes out sobbing.

Chapter 18 Peeta’s interview

As I pass Peeta, who’s headed for his interview, he doesn’t meet my eyes. I take my seat carefully, but aside from the puffs of smoke here and there, I seem unharmed, so I turn my attention to him. Caesar and Peeta have been a natural team since they first appeared together a year ago. Their easy give-and-take, comic timing, and ability to segue into heart-wrenching moments, like Peeta’s confession of love for me, have made them a huge success with the audience. They effortlessly open with a few jokes about fires and feathers and overcooking poultry. But anyone can see that Peeta is preoccupied, so Caesar directs the conversation right into the subject that’s on everyone’s minds. “So, Peeta, what was it like when, after all you’ve been through, you found out about the Quell?” asks Caesar. “I was in shock. I mean, one minute I’m seeing Katniss looking so beautiful in all these wedding gowns, and the next …” Peeta trails off. “You realized there was never going to be a wedding?” asks Caesar gently. Peeta pauses for a long moment, as if deciding something. He looks out at the spellbound audience, then at tin floor, then finally up at Caesar. “Caesar, do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?” An uncomfortable laugh emanates from the audience. What can he mean? Keep a secret from who? Our whole world is watching. “I feel quite certain of it,” says Caesar. “We’re already married,” says Peeta quietly. The crowd reacts in astonishment, and I have to bury my face in the folds of my skirt so they can’t see my confusion. Where on earth is he going with this? “But … how can that be?” asks Caesar. “Oh, it’s not an official marriage. We didn’t go to the Justice Building or anything. But we have this marriage ritual in District Twelve. I don’t know what it’s like in the other districts. But there’s this thing we do,” says Peeta, and he briefly describes the toasting. “Were your families there?” asks Caesar. “No, we didn’t tell anyone. Not even Haymitch. And Katniss’s mother would never have approved. But you see, we knew if we were married in the Capitol, there wouldn’t be a toasting. And neither of us really wanted to wait any longer. So one day, we just did it,” Peeta says. “And to us, we’re more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us.” “So this was before the Quell?” says Caesar. “Of course before the Quell. I’m sure we’d never have done it after we knew,” says Peeta, starting to get upset. “But who could’ve seen it coming? No one. We went through the Games, we were victors, everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere - I mean, how could we anticipate a thing like that?” “You couldn’t, Peeta.” Caesar puts an arm around his shoulders. “As you say, no one could’ve. But I have to confess, I’m glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together.” Enormous applause. As if encouraged, I look up from my feathers and let the audience see my tragic smile of thanks. The residual smoke from the feathers has made my eyes teary, which adds a very nice touch. “I’m not glad,” says Peeta. “I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially.” This takes even Caesar aback. “Surely even a brief time is better than no time?” “Maybe I’d think that, too, Caesar,” says Peeta bitterly, “if it weren’t for the baby.” There. He’s done it again. Dropped a bomb that wipes out the efforts of every tribute who came before him. Well, maybe not. Maybe this year he has only lit the fuse on a bomb that the victors themselves have been building. Hoping someone would be able to detonate it. Perhaps thinking it would be me in my bridal gown. Not knowing how much I rely on Cinna’s talents, whereas Peeta needs nothing more than his wits. As the bomb explodes, it sends accusations of injustice and barbarism and cruelty flying out in every direction. Even the most Capitol-loving, Games-hungry, bloodthirsty person out there can’t ignore, at least for a moment, how horrific the whole thing is. I am pregnant. The audience can’t absorb the news right away. It has to strike them and sink in and be confirmed by other voices before they begin to sound like a herd of wounded animals, moaning, shrieking, calling for help. And me? I know my face is projected in a tight close-up on the screen, but I don’t make any effort to hide it. Because for a moment, even I am working through what Peeta has said. Isn’t it the thing I dreaded most about the wedding, about the future - the loss of my children to the Games? And it could be true now, couldn’t it? If I hadn’t spent my life building up layers of defenses until I recoil at even the suggestion of marriage or a family? Caesar can’t rein in the crowd again, not even when the buzzer sounds. Peeta nods his good-bye and comes back to his seat without any more conversation. I can see Caesar’s lips moving, but the place is in total chaos and I can’t hear a word. Only the blast of the anthem, cranked up so loud I can feel it vibrating through my bones, lets us know where we stand in the program. I automatically rise and, as I do, I sense Peeta reaching out for me. Tears run down his face as I take his hand. How real are the tears? Is this an acknowledgment that he has been stalked by the same fears that I have? That every victor has? Every parent in every district in Panem?

The moment we step off the elevator, Peeta grips my shoulders. “There isn’t much time, so tell me. Is there anything I have to apologize for?”

“Nothing,” I say. It was a big leap to take without my okay, but I’m just as glad I didn’t know, didn’t have time to second-guess him, to let any guilt over Gale detract from how I really feel about what Peeta did. Which is empowered.

We walk down the hallway. Peeta wants to stop by his room to shower off the makeup and meet me in a few minutes, but I won’t let him. I’m certain that if a door shuts between us, it will lock and I’ll have to spend the night without him. Besides, I have a shower in my room. I refuse to let go of his hand. Do we sleep? I don’t know. We spend the night holding each other, in some halfway land between dreams and waking. Not talking. Both afraid to disturb the other in the hope that we’ll be able to store up a few precious minutes of rest. Cinna and Portia arrive with the dawn, and I know Peeta will have to go. Tributes enter the arena alone. He gives me a light kiss. “See you soon,” he says.

See you soon 

Chapter  19

Finnick has reached Peeta now and is towing him back, one arm across his chest while the other propels them through the water with easy strokes. Peeta rides along without resisting. I don’t know what Finnick said or did that convinced him to put his life in his hands - showed him the bangle, maybe. Or just the sight of me waiting might have been enough. When they reach the sand, I help haul Peeta up onto dry land.

“Hello, again,” he says, and gives me a kiss. “We’ve got allies.”

“Yes. Just as Haymitch intended,” I answer. “Remind me, did we make deals with anyone else?” Peeta asks.

“Only Mags, I think,” I say. I nod toward the old woman doggedly making her way toward us.

“Well, I can’t leave Mags behind,” says Finnick. “She’s one of the few people who actually likes me.”

Chapter 19/20  Cpr is a kind of kissing 

I rush over to where he lies, motionless in a web of vines. “Peeta?” There’s a faint smell of singed hair. I call his name again, giving him a little shake, but he’s unresponsive. My fingers fumble across his lips, where there’s no warm breath although moments ago he was panting. I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart. Instead, I find silence.

“Peeta!” I scream. I shake him harder, even resort to slapping his face, but it’s no use. His heart has failed. I am slapping emptiness. “Peeta!” Finnick props Mags against a tree and pushes me out of the way. “Let me.” His fingers touch points at Peeta’s neck, run over the bones in his ribs and spine. Then he pinches Peeta’s nostrils shut. “No!” I yell, hurling myself at Finnick, for surely he intends to make certain that Peeta’s dead, to keep any hope of life from returning to him. Finnick’s hand comes up and hits me so hard, so squarely in the chest that I go flying back into a nearby tree trunk. I’m stunned for a moment, by the pain, by trying to regain my wind, as I see Finnick close off Peeta’s nose again. From where I sit, I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I’m stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. And it’s so bizarre, even for Finnick, that I stay my hand. No, he’s not kissing him. He’s got Peeta’s nose blocked off but his mouth tilted open, and he’s blowing air into his lungs. I can see this, I can actually see Peeta’s chest rising and falling. Then Finnick unzips the top of Peeta’s jumpsuit and begins to pump the spot over his heart with the heels of his hands. Now that I’ve gotten through my shock, I understand what he’s trying to do. Once in a blue moon, I’ve seen my mother try something similar, but not often. If your heart fails in District 12, it’s unlikely your family could get you to my mother in time, anyway. So her usual patients are burned or wounded or ill. Or starving, of course. But Finnick’s world is different. Whatever he’s doing, he’s done it before. There’s a very set rhythm and method. And I find the arrow tip sinking to the ground as I lean in to watch, desperately, for some sign of success. Agonizing minutes drag past as my hopes diminish. Around the time that I’m deciding it’s too late, that Peeta’s dead, moved on, unreachable forever, he gives a small cough and Finnick sits back. I leave my weapons in the dirt as I fling myself at him. “Peeta?” I say softly. I brush the damp blond strands of hair back from his forehead, find the pulse drumming against my fingers at his neck. His lashes flutter open and his eyes meet mine. “Careful,” he says weakly. “There’s a force field up ahead.” I laugh, but there are tears running down my cheeks. “Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Center roof,” he says. “I’m all right, though. Just a little shaken.” “You were dead! Your heart stopped!” I burst out, before really considering if this is a good idea. I clap my hand over my mouth because I’m starting to make those awful choking sounds that happen when I sob. “Well, it seems to be working now,” he says. “It’s all right, Katniss.” I nod my head but the sounds aren’t stopping. “Katniss?” Now Peeta’s worried about me, which adds to the insanity of it all. “It’s okay. It’s just her hormones,” says Finnick. “From the baby.” I look up and see him, sitting back on his knees but still panting a bit from the climb and the heat and the effort of bringing Peeta back from the dead. “No. It’s not - ” I get out, but I’m cut off by an even more hysterical round of sobbing that seems only to confirm what Finnick said about the baby. He meets my eyes and I glare at him through my tears. It’s stupid, I know, that his efforts make me so vexed. All I wanted was to keep Peeta alive, and I couldn’t and Finnick could, and I should be nothing but grateful. And I am. But I am also furious because it means that I will never stop owing Finnick Odair. Ever. So how can I kill him in his sleep? I expect to see a smug or sarcastic expression on his face, but his look is strangely quizzical. He glances between Peeta and me, as if trying to figure something out, then gives his head a slight shake as if to clear it. “How are you?” he asks Peeta. “Do you think you can move on?” I notice a gleam of gold on Peeta’s chest. I reach out and retrieve the disk that hangs from a chain around his neck. My mockingjay has been engraved on it. “Is this your token?” I ask. “Yes. Do you mind that I used your mockingjay? I wanted us to match,” he says. “No, of course I don’t mind.” I force a smile. Peeta showing up in the arena wearing a mockingjay is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it should give a boost to the rebels in the district. On the other, it’s hard to imagine President Snow will overlook it, and that makes the job of keeping Peeta alive harder.

Chapter 24

know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins. "It’s all right, Katniss,” he whispers. “You didn’t hear them,” I answer. “I heard Prim. Right in the beginning. But it wasn’t her,” he says. “It was a jabberjay.” “It was her. Somewhere. The jabberjay just recorded it,” I say. “No, that’s what they want you to think. The same way I wondered if Glimmer’s eyes were in that mutt last year. But those weren’t Glimmer’s eyes. And that wasn’t Prim’s voice. Or if it was, they took it from an interview or something and distorted the sound. Made it say whatever she was saying,” he says. “No, they were torturing her,” I answer. “She’s probably dead.” “Katniss, Prim isn’t dead. How could they kill Prim? We’re almost down to the final eight of us. And what happens then?” Peeta says. “Seven more of us die,” I say hopelessly. “No, back home. What happens when they reach the final eight tributes in the Games?” He lifts my chin so I have to look at him. Forces me to make eye contact. “What happens? At the final eight?” I know he’s trying to help me, so I make myself think. “At the final eight?” I repeat. “They interview your family and friends back home.” “That’s right,” says Peeta. “They interview your family and friends. And can they do that if they’ve killed them all?” “No?” I ask, still unsure. “No. That’s how we know Prim’s alive. She’ll be the first one they interview, won’t she?” he asks. I want to believe him. Badly. It’s just … those voices … “First Prim. Then your mother. Your cousin, Gale. Madge,” he continues. “It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we’re the only ones who can be hurt by it. We’re the ones in the Games. Not them.” “You really believe that?” I say. “I really do,” says Peeta. I waver, thinking of how Peeta can make anyone believe anything. I look over at Finnick for confirmation, see he’s fixated on Peeta, his words. “Do you believe it, Finnick?” I ask. “It could be true. I don’t know,” he says. “Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone’s regular voice and make it …” “Oh, yes. It’s not even that difficult, Finnick. Our children learn a similar technique in school,” says Beetee. “Of course Peeta’s right. The whole country adores Katniss’s little sister. If they really killed her like this, they’d probably have an uprising on their hands,” says Johanna flatly. “Don’t want that, do they?” She throws back her head and shouts, “Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn’t want anything like that!”

THE BEACH SCENE  Chapter 24 if your wondering

Peeta and I sit on the damp sand, facing away from each other, my right shoulder and hip pressed against his. I watch the water as he watches the jungle, which is better for me. I’m still haunted by the voices of the jabberjays, which unfortunately the insects can’t drown out. After a while I rest my head against his shoulder. Feel his hand caress my hair. “Katniss,” he says softly, “it’s no use pretending we don’t know what the other one is trying to do.” No, I guess there isn’t, but it’s no fun discussing it, either. Well, not for us, anyway. The Capitol viewers will be glued to their sets so they don’t miss one wretched word. “I don’t know what kind of deal you think you’ve made with Haymitch, but you should know he made me promises as well.” Of course, I know this, too. He told Peeta they could keep me alive so that he wouldn’t be suspicious. “So I think we can assume he was lying to one of us.” This gets my attention. A double deal. A double promise. With only Haymitch knowing which one is real. I raise my head, meet Peeta’s eyes. “Why are you saying this now?” “Because I don’t want you forgetting how different our circumstances are. If you die, and I live, there’s no life for me at all back in District Twelve. You’re my whole life,” he says. “I would never be happy again.” I start to object but he puts a finger to my lips. “It’s different for you. I’m not saying it wouldn’t be hard. But there are other people who’d make your life worth living.” Peeta pulls the chain with the gold disk from around his neck. He holds it in the moonlight so I can clearly see the mockingjay. Then his thumb slides along a catch I didn’t notice before and the disk pops open. It’s not solid, as I had thought, but a locket. And within the locket are photos. On the right side, my mother and Prim, laughing. And on the left, Gale. Actually smiling. There is nothing in the world that could break me faster at this moment than these three faces. After what I heard this afternoon … it is the perfect weapon. “Your family needs you, Katniss,” Peeta says. My family. My mother. My sister. And my pretend cousin Gale. But Peeta’s intention is clear. That Gale really is my family, or will be one day, if I live. That I’ll marry him. So Peeta’s giving me his life and Gale at the same time. To let me know I shouldn’t ever have doubts about it. Everything. That’s what Peeta wants me to take from him. I wait for him to mention the baby, to play to the cameras, but he doesn’t. And that’s how I know that none of this is part of the Games. That he is telling me the truth about what he feels. “No one really needs me,” he says, and there’s no self-pity in his voice. It’s true his family doesn’t need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me. “I do,” I say. “I need you.” He looks upset, takes a deep breath as if to begin a long argument, and that’s no good, no good at all, because he’ll start going on about Prim and my mother and everything and I’ll just get confused. So before he can talk, I stop his lips with a kiss. I feel that thing again. The thing I only felt once before. In the cave last year, when I was trying to get Haymitch to send us food. I kissed Peeta about a thousand times during those Games and after. But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir deep inside. Only one that made me want more. But my head wound started bleeding and he made me lie down. This time, there is nothing but us to interrupt us. And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up on talking. The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind. “I can’t sleep anymore,” he says. “One of you should rest.” Only then does he seem to notice our expressions, the way we’re wrapped around each other. “Or both of you. I can watch alone.” Peeta won’t let him, though. “It’s too dangerous,” he says. “I’m not tired. You lie down, Katniss.” I don’t object because I do need to sleep if I’m to be of any use keeping him alive. I let him lead me over to where the others are. He puts the chain with the locket around my neck, then rests his hand over the spot where our baby would be. “You’re going to make a great mother, you know,” he says. He kisses me one last time and goes back to Finnick. His reference to the baby signals that our time-out from the Games is over. That he knows the audience will be wondering why he hasn’t used the most persuasive argument in his arsenal. That sponsors must be manipulated. But as I stretch out on the sand I wonder, could it be more? Like a reminder to me that I could still one day have kids with Gale? Well, if that was it, it was a mistake. Because for one thing, that’s never been part of my plan. And for another, if only one of us can be a parent, anyone can see it should be Peeta. As I drift off, I try to imagine that world, somewhere in the future, with no Games, no Capitol. A place like the meadow in the song I sang to Rue as she died. Where Peeta’s child could be safe

Chapter 25

Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water and hands it to me. “For you.” I hold it out on my palm and examine its iridescent surface in the sunlight. Yes, I will keep it. For the few remaining hours of my life I will keep it close. This last gift from Peeta. The only one I can really accept. Perhaps it will give me strength in the final moments. “Thanks,” I say, closing my fist around it. I look coolly into the blue eyes of the person who is now my greatest opponent, the person who would keep me alive at his own expense. And I promise myself I will defeat his plan. The laughter drains from those eyes, and they are staring so intensely into mine, it’s like they can read my thoughts. “The locket didn’t work, did it?” Peeta says, even though Finnick is right there. Even though everyone can hear him. “Katniss?” “It worked,” I say. “But not the way I wanted it to,” he says, averting his glance. After that he will look at nothing but oysters.

I have the pearl, though, secured in a parachute with the spile and the medicine at my waist. I hope it makes it back to District 12. Surely my mother and Prim will know to return it to Peeta before they bury my body.

Chapter 26  

I don’t like the plan any more than Peeta does. How can I protect him at a distance? But Beetee’s right. With his leg, Peeta is too slow to make it down the slope in time. Johanna and I are the fastest and most sure-footed on the jungle floor. I can’t think of any alternative. And if I trust anyone here besides Peeta, it’s Beetee. “It’s okay,” I tell Peeta. “We’ll just drop the coil and come straight back up.” “Not into the lightning zone,” Beetee reminds me. “Head for the tree in the one-to-two-o'clock sector. If you find you’re running out of time, move over one more. Don’t even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage.” I take Peeta’s face in my hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you at midnight.” I give him a kiss and, before he can object any further, I let go and turn to Johanna. “Ready?”

Mockingjay .

Chapter 3

I feel around for the parachute and slide my fingers inside until they close around the pearl. I sit back on my bed cross-legged and find myself rubbing the smooth iridescent surface of the pearl back and forth against my lips. For some reason, it’s soothing. A cool kiss from the giver himself.

skim my list. “Gale. I’ll need him with me to do this.” “With you how? Off camera? By your side at all times? Do you want him presented as your new lover?” Coin asks. She hasn’t said this with any particular malice - quite the contrary, her words are very matter-of-fact. But my mouth still drops open in shock. “What?” “I think we should continue the current romance. A quick defection from Peeta could cause the audience to lose sympathy for her,” says Plutarch. “Especially since they think she’s pregnant with his child.” “Agreed. So, on-screen, Gale can simply be portrayed as a fellow rebel. Is that all right?” says Coin. I just stare at her. She repeats herself impatiently. “For Gale. Will that be sufficient?” “We can always work him in as your cousin,” says Fulvia.

“We’re not cousins,” Gale and I say together.

“Right, but we should probably keep that up for appearances’ sake on camera,” says Plutarch. “Off camera, he’s all yours. Anything else?”

I’m rattled by the turn in the conversation. The implications that I could so readily dispose of Peeta, that I’m in love with Gale, that the whole thing has been an act. My cheeks begin to burn. The very notion that I’m devoting any thought to who I want presented as my lover, given our current circumstances, is demeaning. I let my anger propel me into my greatest demand. “When the war is over, if we’ve won, Peeta will be pardoned.”

Dead silence. I feel Gale’s body tense. I guess I should have told him before, but I wasn’t sure how he’d respond. Not when it involved Peeta.

“No form of punishment will be inflicted,” I continue. A new thought occurs to me. “The same goes for the other captured tributes, Johanna and Enobaria.” Frankly, I don’t care about Enobaria, the vicious District 2 tribute. In fact, I dislike her, but it seems wrong to leave her out.

“No,” says Coin flatly.

“Yes,” I shoot back. “It’s not their fault you abandoned them in the arena. Who knows what the Capitol’s doing to them?”

“They’ll be tried with other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit,” she says.

“They’ll be granted immunity!” I feel myself rising from my chair, my voice full and resonant. “You will personally pledge this in front of the entire population of District Thirteen and the remainder of Twelve. Soon. Today. It will be recorded for future generations. You will hold yourself and your government responsible for their safety, or you’ll find yourself another Mockingjay!”

My words hang in the air for a long moment.

Chapter 16

“Always.” In the twilight of morphling, Peeta whispers the word and I go searching for him. It’s a gauzy, violet-tinted world, with no hard edges, and many places to hide. I push through cloud banks, follow faint tracks, catch the scent of cinnamon, of dill. Once I feel his hand on my cheek and try to trap it, but it dissolves like mist through my fingers.

I wish I could meet with Peeta privately. But the audience of doctors has assembled behind the one-way glass, clipboards ready, pens poised. When Haymitch gives me the okay in my earpiece, I slowly open the door. Those blue eyes lock on me instantly. He’s got three restraints on each arm, and a tube that can dispense a knockout drug just in case he loses control. He doesn’t fight to free himself, though, only observes me with the wary look of someone who still hasn’t ruled out that he’s in the presence of a mutt. I walk over until I’m standing about a yard from the bed. There’s nothing to do with my hands, so I cross my arms protectively over my ribs before I speak. “Hey.” “Hey,” he responds. It’s like his voice, almost his voice, except there’s something new in it. An edge of suspicion and reproach. “Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me,” I say. “Look at you, for starters.” It’s like he’s waiting for me to transform into a hybrid drooling wolf right before his eyes. He stares so long I find myself casting furtive glances at the one-way glass, hoping for some direction from Haymitch, but my earpiece stays silent. “You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?” I know he’s been through hell and back, and yet somehow the observation rubs me the wrong way. “Well, you’ve looked better.” Haymitch’s advice to back off gets muffled by Peeta’s laughter. “And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I’ve been through.” “Yeah. We’ve all been through a lot. And you’re the one who was known for being nice. Not me.” I’m doing everything wrong. I don’t know why I feel so defensive. He’s been tortured! He’s been hijacked! What’s wrong with me? Suddenly, I think I might start screaming at him - I’m not even sure about what - so I decide to get out of there. “Look, I don’t feel so well. Maybe I’ll drop by tomorrow.” I’ve just reached the door when his voice stops me. “Katniss. I remember about the bread.” The bread. Our one moment of real connection before the Hunger Games. “They showed you the tape of me talking about it,” I say. “No. Is there a tape of you talking about it? Why didn’t the Capitol use it against me?” he asks. “I made it the day you were rescued,” I answer. The pain in my chest wraps around my ribs like a vise. The dancing was a mistake. “So what do you remember?” “You. In the rain,” he says softly. “Digging in our trash bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead.” “That’s it. That’s what happened,” I say. “The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn’t know how.” “We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then…for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion.” I nod. He does remember. I have never spoken about that moment aloud. “I must have loved you a lot.” “You did.” My voice catches and I pretend to cough. “And did you love me?” he asks. I keep my eyes on the tiled floor. “Everyone says I did. Everyone says that’s why Snow had you tortured. To break me.” “That’s not an answer,” he tells me. “I don’t know what to think when they show me some of the tapes. In that first arena, it looked like you tried to kill me with those tracker jackers.” “I was trying to kill all of you,” I say. “You had me treed.” “Later, there’s a lot of kissing. Didn’t seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?” he asks. “Sometimes,” I admit. “You know people are watching us now?” “I know. What about Gale?” he continues. My anger’s returning. I don’t care about his recovery - this isn’t the business of the people behind the glass. “He’s not a bad kisser either,” I say shortly. “And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other?” he asks. “No. It wasn’t okay with either of you. But I wasn’t asking your permission,” I tell him. Peeta laughs again, coldly, dismissively. “Well, you’re a piece of work, aren’t you?” Haymitch doesn’t protest when I walk out. Down the hall. Through the beehive of compartments. Find a warm pipe to hide behind in a laundry room. It takes a long time before I get to the bottom of why I’m so upset. When I do, it’s almost too mortifying to admit. All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it.

Chapter 18 

I consider saying a final good-bye to Peeta, decide it would only be bad for both of us. But I do slip the pearl into the pocket of my uniform. A token of the boy with the bread.

Chapter 19 

After about an hour, Peeta speaks up. “These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Trying to decide whether to kill me or not. Back and forth. Back and forth.” That seems grossly unfair, and my first impulse is to say something cutting. But I revisit my conversation with Haymitch and try to take the first tentative step in Peeta’s direction. “I never wanted to kill you. Except when I thought you were helping the Careers kill me. After that, I always thought of you as…an ally.” That’s a good safe word. Empty of any emotional obligation, but nonthreatening. “Ally.” Peeta says the word slowly, tasting it. “Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out.” He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. “The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.” The cessation of rhythmic breathing suggests that either people have woken or have never really been asleep at all. I suspect the latter.

At a few minutes before four, Peeta turns to me again. “Your favorite color…it’s green?” “That’s right.” Then I think of something to add. “And yours is orange.” “Orange?” He seems unconvinced. “Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset,” I say. “At least, that’s what you told me once.” “Oh.” He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. “Thank you.” But more words tumble out. “You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.” Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.

Chapter 21

 Peeta buries his face in his hands for a few moments, then rises to join us. “Should we free his hands?” asks Leeg 1. “No!” Peeta growls at her, drawing his cuffs in close to his body. “No,” I echo. “But I want the key.” Jackson passes it over without a word. I slip it into my pants pocket, where it clicks against the pearl.

In the fluorescent light, the circles under his eyes look like bruises. “There’s still time. You should sleep.” Unresisting, he lies back down, but just stares at the needle on one of the dials as it twitches from side to side. Slowly, as I would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. He freezes at my touch, but doesn’t recoil. So I continue to gently smooth back his hair. It’s the first time I have voluntarily touched him since the last arena. “You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers. “Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation. “Because that’s what you and I do. Protect each other.” After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep.

Chapter 22

“Leave me,” he whispers. “I can’t hang on.” “Yes. You can!” I tell him. Peeta shakes his head. “I’m losing it. I’ll go mad. Like them.” Like the mutts. Like a rabid beast bent on ripping my throat out. And here, finally here in this place, in these circumstances, I will really have to kill him. And Snow will win. Hot, bitter hatred courses through me. Snow has won too much already today. It’s a long shot, it’s suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. “Don’t let him take you from me.” Peeta’s panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. “No. I don’t want to…” I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.” His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. “Always,” he murmurs

Chapter 23

I think it’s time I give myself up. When everyone finally awakens, I confess. How I lied about the mission, how I jeopardized everyone in pursuit of revenge. There’s a long silence after I finish. Then Gale says, “Katniss, we all knew you were lying about Coin sending you to assassinate Snow.” “You knew, maybe. The soldiers from Thirteen didn’t,” I reply.

“Do you really think Jackson believed you had orders from Coin?” Cressida asks. “Of course she didn’t. But she trusted Boggs, and he’d clearly wanted you to go on.”

“I never even told Boggs what I planned to do,” I say.

“You told everyone in Command!” Gale says. “It was one of your conditions for being the Mockingjay. 'I kill Snow.’”

Those seem like two disconnected things. Negotiating with Coin for the privilege of executing Snow after the war and this unauthorized flight through the Capitol. “But not like this,” I say. “It’s been a complete disaster.”

“I think it would be considered a highly successful mission,” says Gale. “We’ve infiltrated the enemy camp, showing that the Capitol’s defenses can be breached. We’ve managed to get footage of ourselves all over the Capitol’s news. We’ve thrown the whole city into chaos trying to find us.”

“Trust me, Plutarch’s thrilled,” Cressida adds.

“That’s because Plutarch doesn’t care who dies,” I say. “Not as long as his Games are a success.”

Cressida and Gale go round and round trying to convince me. Pollux nods at their words to back them up. Only Peeta doesn’t offer an opinion.

“What do you think, Peeta?” I finally ask him.

“I think…you still have no idea. The effect you can have.” He slides his cuffs up the support and pushes himself to a sitting position. “None of the people we lost were idiots. They knew what they were doing. They followed you because they believed you really could kill Snow.”

I don’t know why his voice reaches me when no one else’s can. But if he’s right, and I think he is, I owe the others a debt that can only be repaid in one way. I pull my paper map from a pocket in my uniform and spread it out on the floor with new resolve. “Where are we, Cressida?”

Chapter 27

I wake with a start. Pale morning light comes around the edges of the shutters. The scraping of the shovel continues. Still half in the nightmare, I run down the hall, out the front door, and around the side of the house, because now I’m pretty sure I can scream at the dead. When I see him, I pull up short. His face is flushed from digging up the ground under the windows. In a wheelbarrow are five scraggly bushes. “You’re back,” I say. “Dr. Aurelius wouldn’t let me leave the Capitol until yesterday,” Peeta says. “By the way, he said to tell you he can’t keep pretending he’s treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone.” He looks well. Thin and covered with burn scars like me, but his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. He’s frowning slightly, though, as he takes me in. I make a halfhearted effort to push my hair out of my eyes and realize it’s matted into clumps. I feel defensive. “What are you doing?” “I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her,” he says. “I thought we could plant them along the side of the house.” I look at the bushes, the clods of dirt hanging from their roots, and catch my breath as the wordrose registers. I’m about to yell vicious things at Peeta when the full name comes to me. Not plain rose but evening primrose. The flower my sister was named for. I give Peeta a nod of assent and hurry back into the house, locking the door behind me. But the evil thing is inside, not out. Trembling with weakness and anxiety, I run up the stairs. My foot catches on the last step and I crash onto the floor. I force myself to rise and enter my room. The smell’s very faint but still laces the air. It’s there. The white rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow’s greenhouse. I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again. I smash the vase on the floor for good measure.

Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life. I try to follow Dr. Aurelius’s advice, just going through the motions, amazed when one finally has meaning again. I tell him my idea about the book, and a large box of parchment sheets arrives on the next train from the Capitol. I got the idea from our family’s plant book. The place where we recorded those things you cannot trust to memory. The page begins with the person’s picture. A photo if we can find it. If not, a sketch or painting by Peeta. Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim’s cheek. My father’s laugh. Peeta’s father with the cookies. The color of Finnick’s eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count. Haymitch finally joins us, contributing twenty-three years of tributes he was forced to mentor. Additions become smaller. An old memory that surfaces. A late primrose preserved between the pages. Strange bits of happiness, like the photo of Finnick and Annie’s newborn son. We learn to keep busy again. Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out, and then raises geese until the next train arrives. Fortunately, the geese can take pretty good care of themselves. We’re not alone. A few hundred others return because, whatever has happened, this is our home. With the mines closed, they plow the ashes into the earth and plant food. Machines from the Capitol break ground for a new factory where we will make medicines. Although no one seeds it, the Meadow turns green again. Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale’s fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, “You love me. Real or not real?” I tell him, “Real.”

epilogue

They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and gray eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I first felt her stirring inside of me, I was consumed with a terror that felt as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it. Carrying him was a little easier, but not much. The questions are just beginning. The arenas have been completely destroyed, the memorials built, there are no more Hunger Games. But they teach about them at school, and the girl knows we played a role in them. The boy will know in a few years. How can I tell them about that world without frightening them to death? My children, who take the words of the song for granted:

Deep in the meadow, under the willow A bed of grass, a soft green pillow Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes And when again they open, the sun will rise. Here it’s safe, here it’s warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.

My children, who don’t know they play on a graveyard.

Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. But one day I’ll have to explain about my nightmares. Why they came. Why they won’t ever really go away.

I’ll tell them how I survive it. I’ll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I’m afraid it could be taken away. That’s when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I’ve seen someone do. It’s like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years.

But there are much worse games to play.

And Because I am a super Petty Person Gales   Kisses will be added below 

"If only it were that simple." He picks up one of the flowered cookies and examines it. "Lovely. Your mother made these?" "Peeta." And for the first time, I find I can't hold his gaze. I reach for my tea but set it back down when I hear the cup rattling against the saucer. To cover I quickly take a cookie. "Peeta. How is the love of your life?" he asks. "Good," I say. "At what point did he realize the exact degree of your indifference?" he asks, dipping his cookie in his tea. "I'm not indifferent," I say. "But perhaps not as taken with the young man as you would have the country believe," he says. "Who says I'm not?" I say. "I do," says the president. "And I wouldn't be here if I were the only person who had doubts. How's the handsome cousin?" "I don't know ... I don't ..." My revulsion at this conversation, at discussing my feelings for two of the people I care most about with President Snow, chokes me off. "Speak, Miss Everdeen. Him I can easily kill off if we don't come to a happy resolution," he says. "You aren't doing him a favor by disappearing into the woods with him each Sunday." If he knows this, what else does he know? And how does he know it? Many people could tell him that Gale and I spend our Sundays hunting. Don't we show up at the end of each one loaded down with game? Haven't we for years? The real question is what he thinks goes on in the woods beyond District 12. Surely they haven't been tracking us in there. Or have they? Could we have been followed? That seems impossible. At least by a person. Cameras? That never crossed my mind until this moment. The woods have always been our place of safety, our place beyond the reach of the Capitol, where we're free to say what we feel, be who we are. At least before the Games. If we've been watched since, what have they seen? Two people hunting, saying treasonous things against the Capitol, yes. But not two people in love, which seems to be President Snow's implication. We are safe on that charge. Unless ... unless ... It only happened once. It was fast and unexpected, but it did happen. After Peeta and I got home from the Games, it was several weeks before I saw Gale alone. First there were the obligatory celebrations. A banquet for the victors that only the most high-ranking people were invited to. A holiday for the whole district with free food and entertainers brought in from the Capitol. Parcel Day, the first of twelve, in which food packages were delivered to every person in the district. That was my favorite. To see all those hungry kids in the Seam running around, waving cans of applesauce, tins of meat, even candy. Back home, too big to carry, would be bags of grain, cans of oil. To know that once a month for a year they would all receive another parcel. That was one of the few times I actually felt good about winning the Games. So between the ceremonies and events and the reporters documenting my every move as I presided and thanked and kissed Peeta for the audience, I had no privacy at all. After a few weeks, things finally died down. The camera crews and reporters packed up and went home. Peeta and I assumed the cool relationship we've had ever since. My family settled into our house in the Victor's Village. The everyday life of District 12 - workers to the mines, kids to school - resumed its usual pace. I waited until I thought the coast was really clear, and then one Sunday, without telling anyone, I got up hours before dawn and took off for the woods. The weather was still warm enough that I didn't need a jacket. I packed along a bag filled with special foods, cold chicken and cheese and bakery bread and oranges. Down at my old house, I put on my hunting boots. As usual, the fence was not charged and it was simple to slip into the woods and retrieve my bow and arrows. I went to our place, Gale's and mine, where we had shared breakfast the morning of the reaping that sent me into the Games. I waited at least two hours. I'd begun to think that he'd given up on me in the weeks that had passed. Or that he no longer cared about me. Hated me even. And the idea of losing him forever, my best friend, the only person I'd ever trusted with my secrets, was so painful I couldn't stand it. Not on top of everything else that had happened. I could feel my eyes tearing up and my throat starting to close the way it does when I get upset. Then I looked up and there he was, ten feet away, just watching me. Without even thinking, I jumped up and threw my arms around him, making some weird sound that combined laughing, choking, and crying. He was holding me so tightly that I couldn't see his face, but it was a really long time before he let me go and then he didn't have much choice, because I'd gotten this unbelievably loud case of the hiccups and had to get a drink. We did what we always did that day. Ate breakfast. Hunted and fished and gathered. Talked about people in town. But not about us, his new life in the mines, my time in the arena. Just about other things. By the time we were at the hole in the fence that's nearest the Hob, I think I really believed that things could be the same. That we could go on as we always had. I'd given all the game to Gale to trade since we had so much food now. I told him I'd skip the Hob, even though I was looking forward to going there, because my mother and sister didn't even know I'd gone hunting and they'd be wondering where I was. Then suddenly, as I was suggesting I take over the daily snare run, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I'd spent with Gale - watching him talk and laugh and frown - that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which could set the most intricate of snares, could as easily entrap me. I think I made some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I vaguely remember my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then he let go and said, "I had to do that. At least once." And he was gone. Despite the fact that the sun was setting and my family would be worried, I sat by a tree next to the fence. I tried to decide how I felt about the kiss, if I had liked it or resented it, but all I really remembered was the pressure of Gale's lips and the scent of the oranges that still lingered on his skin. It was pointless comparing it with the many kisses I'd exchanged with Peeta. I still hadn't figured out if any of those counted. Finally I went home. That week I managed the snares and dropped off the meat with Hazelle. But I didn't see Gale until Sunday. I had this whole speech worked out, about how I didn't want a boyfriend and never planned on marrying, but I didn't end up using it. Gale acted as if the kiss had never happened. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something. Or kiss him back. Instead I just pretended it had never happened, either. But it had. Gale had shattered some invisible barrier between us and, with it, any hope I had of resuming our old, uncomplicated friendship. Whatever I pretended, I could never look at his lips in quite the same way. This all flashes through my head in an instant as President Snow's eyes bore into me on the heels of his threat to kill Gale. How stupid I've been to think the Capitol would just ignore me once I'd returned home! Maybe I didn't know about the potential uprisings. But I knew they were angry with me. Instead of acting with the extreme caution the situation called for, what have I done? From the president's point of view, I've ignored Peeta and flaunted my preference for Gale's company before the whole district. And by doing so made it clear I was, in fact, mocking the Capitol. Now I've endangered Gale and his family and my family and Peeta, too, by my carelessness. "Please don't hurt Gale," I whisper. "He's just my friend. He's been my friend for years. That's all that's between us. Besides, everyone thinks we're cousins now." "I'm only interested in how it affects your dynamic with Peeta, thereby affecting the mood in the districts," he says. "It will be the same on the tour. I'll be in love with him just as I was," I say. "Just as you are," corrects President Snow. "Just as I am," I confirm.

For the first time, I reverse our positions in my head. I imagine watching Gale volunteering to save Rory in the reaping, having him torn from my life, becoming some strange girl's lover to stay alive, and then coming home with her. Living next to her. Promising to marry her. The hatred I feel for him, for the phantom girl, for everything, is so real and immediate that it chokes me. Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable. Why did it take him being whipped within an inch of his life to see it? Because I'm selfish. I'm a coward. I'm the kind of girl who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn't follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does. You saved Peeta, I think weakly. But now I question even that. I knew good and well that my life back in District 12 would be unlivable if I let that boy die. I rest my head forward on the edge of the table, overcome with loathing for myself. Wishing I had died in the arena. Wishing Seneca Crane had blown me to bits the way President Snow said he should have when I held out the berries. The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful of poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. The trouble is, I don't know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. Could it be the people in the districts are right? That it was an act of rebellion, even if it was an unconscious one? Because, deep down, I must know it isn't enough to keep myself, or my family, or my friends alive by running away. Even if I could. It wouldn't fix anything. It wouldn't stop people from being hurt the way Gale was today. Life in District 12 isn't really so different from life in the arena. At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants you dead. The hard thing is finding the courage to do it. Well, it's not hard for Gale. He was born a rebel. I'm the one making an escape plan. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. I lean forward and kiss him. His eyelashes flutter and he looks at me through a haze of opiates. "Hey, Catnip." "Hey, Gale," I say. "Thought you'd be gone by now," he says. My choices are simple. I can die like quarry in the woods or I can die here beside Gale. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble." "Me, too," Gale says. He just manages a smile before the drugs pull him back under.

By the time we reach the town square, afternoon's sinking into evening. I take Cressida to the rubble of the bakery and ask her to film something. The only emotion I can muster is exhaustion. "Peeta, this is your home. None of your family has been heard of since the bombing. Twelve is gone. And you're calling for a cease-fire?" I look across the emptiness. "There's no one left to hear you." As we stand before the lump of metal that was the gallows, Cressida asks if either of us has ever been tortured. In answer, Gale pulls off his shirt and turns his back to the camera. I stare at the lash marks, and again hear the whistling of the whip, see his bloody figure hanging unconscious by his wrists. "I'm done," I announce. "I'll meet you at the Victor's Village. Something for...my mother." I guess I walked here, but the next thing I'm conscious of is sitting on the floor in front of the kitchen cabinets of our house in the Victor's Village. Meticulously lining ceramic jars and glass bottles into a box. Placing clean cotton bandages between them to prevent breaking. Wrapping bunches of dried flowers. Suddenly, I remember the rose on my dresser. Was it real? If so, is it still up there? I have to resist the temptation to check. If it's there, it will only frighten me all over again. I hurry with my packing. When the cabinets are empty, I rise to find that Gale has materialized in my kitchen. It's disturbing how soundlessly he can appear. He's leaning on the table, his fingers spread wide against the wood grain. I set the box between us. "Remember?" he asks. "This is where you kissed me." So the heavy dose of morphling administered after the whipping wasn't enough to erase that from his consciousness. "I didn't think you'd remember that," I say. "Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then," he tells me. "Maybe I'll be like that man in 'The Hanging Tree.' Still waiting for an answer." Gale, who I have never seen cry, has tears in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over, I reach forward and press my lips against his. We taste of heat, ashes, and misery. It's a surprising flavor for such a gentle kiss. He pulls away first and gives me a wry smile. "I knew you'd kiss me." "How?" I say. Because I didn't know myself. "Because I'm in pain," he says. "That's the only way I get your attention." He picks up the box. "Don't worry, Katniss. It'll pass." He leaves before I can answer. I'm too weary to work through his latest charge. I spend the short ride back to 13 curled up in a seat, trying to ignore Plutarch going on about one of his favorite subjects - weapons mankind no longer has at its disposal. High-flying planes, military satellites, cell disintegrators, drones, biological weapons with expiration dates. Brought down by the destruction of the atmosphere or lack of resources or moral squeamishness. You can hear the regret of a Head Gamemaker who can only dream of such toys, who must make do with hovercraft and land-to-land missiles and plain old guns.

Gale finds me when they arrive late one afternoon. I'm sitting on a log at the edge of my current village, plucking a goose. A dozen or so of the birds are piled at my feet. Great flocks of them have been migrating through here since I've arrived, and the pickings are easy. Without a word, Gale settles beside me and begins to relieve a bird of its feathers. We're through about half when he says, "Any chance we'll get to eat these?" "Yeah. Most go to the camp kitchen, but they expect me to give a couple to whoever I'm staying with tonight," I say. "For keeping me." "Isn't the honor of the thing enough?" he says. "You'd think," I reply. "But word's gotten out that mockingjays are hazardous to your health." We pluck in silence for a while longer. Then he says, "I saw Peeta yesterday. Through the glass." "What'd you think?" I ask. "Something selfish," says Gale. "That you don't have to be jealous of him anymore?" My fingers give a yank, and a cloud of feathers floats down around us. "No. Just the opposite." Gale pulls a feather out of my hair. "I thought...I'll never compete with that. No matter how much pain I'm in." He spins the feather between his thumb and forefinger. "I don't stand a chance if he doesn't get better. You'll never be able to let him go. You'll always feel wrong about being with me." "The way I always felt wrong kissing him because of you," I say. Gale holds my gaze. "If I thought that was true, I could almost live with the rest of it." "It is true," I admit. "But so is what you said about Peeta."

Gale makes a sound of exasperation. Nonetheless, after we've dropped off the birds and volunteered to go back to the woods to gather kindling for the evening fire, I find myself wrapped in his arms. His lips brushing the faded bruises on my neck, working their way to my mouth. Despite what I feel for Peeta, this is when I accept deep down that he'll never come back to me. Or I'll never go back to him. I'll stay in 2 until it falls, go to the Capitol and kill Snow, and then die for my trouble. And he'll die insane and hating me. So in the fading light I shut my eyes and kiss Gale to make up for all the kisses I've withheld, and because it doesn't matter anymore, and because I'm so desperately lonely I can't stand it. Gale's touch and taste and heat remind me that at least my body's still alive, and for the moment it's a welcome feeling. I empty my mind and let the sensations run through my flesh, happy to lose myself. When Gale pulls away slightly, I move forward to close the gap, but I feel his hand under my chin. "Katniss," he says. The instant I open my eyes, the world seems disjointed. This is not our woods or our mountains or our way. My hand automatically goes to the scar on my left temple, which I associate with confusion. "Now kiss me." Bewildered, unblinking, I stand there while he leans in and presses his lips to mine briefly. He examines my face closely. "What's going on in your head?"

"I don't know," I whisper back.

"Then it's like kissing someone who's drunk. It doesn't count," he says with a weak attempt at a laugh. He scoops up a pile of kindling and drops it in my empty arms, returning me to myself.

"How do you know?" I say, mostly to cover my embarrassment. "Have you kissed someone who's drunk?" I guess Gale could've been kissing girls right and left back in 12. He certainly had enough takers. I never thought about it much before.

He just shakes his head. "No. But it's not hard to imagine."

"So, you never kissed any other girls?" I ask.

"I didn't say that. You know, you were only twelve when we met. And a real pain besides. I did have a life outside of hunting with you," he says, loading up with firewood.

Suddenly, I'm genuinely curious. "Who did you kiss? And where?"

"Too many to remember. Behind the school, on the slag heap, you name it," he says.

I roll my eyes. "So when did I become so special? When they carted me off to the Capitol?"

"No. About six months before that. Right after New Year's. We were in the Hob, eating some slop of Greasy Sae's. And Darius was teasing you about trading a rabbit for one of his kisses. And I realized...I minded," he tells me.

I remember that day. Bitter cold and dark by four in the afternoon. We'd been hunting, but a heavy snow had driven us back into town. The Hob was crowded with people looking for refuge from the weather. Greasy Sae's soup, made with stock from the bones of a wild dog we'd shot a week earlier, was below her usual standards. Still, it was hot, and I was starving as I scooped it up, sitting cross-legged on her counter. Darius was leaning on the post of the stall, tickling my cheek with the end of my braid, while I smacked his hand away. He was explaining why one of his kisses merited a rabbit, or possibly two, since everyone knows redheaded men are the most virile. And Greasy Sae and I were laughing because he was so ridiculous and persistent and kept pointing out women around the Hob who he said had paid far more than a rabbit to enjoy his lips. "See? The one in the green muffler? Go ahead and ask her.If you need a reference."

A million miles from here, a billion days ago, this happened. "Darius was just joking around," I say.

"Probably. Although you'd be the last to figure out if he wasn't," Gale tells me. "Take Peeta. Take me. Or even Finnick. I was starting to worry he had his eye on you, but he seems back on track now."

"You don't know Finnick if you think he'd love me," I say.

Gale shrugs. "I know he was desperate. That makes people do all kinds of crazy things."

I can't help thinking that's directed at me.

Gale catches my arm before I can disappear. "So that's what you're thinking now?" I shrug. "Katniss, as your oldest friend, believe me when I say he's not seeing you as you really are." He kisses my cheek and goes.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Tokyo Tower (Part 5) Butterfly Effect

Please enjoy this! :D I’ve changed a lot about this scene to cut out the irrelevant and pointless parts and keep it focused on the MC and the characters we want to see! @rurifangirl by request

“You think I would use the perfect evolutionary medicine on my own daughter and use her to create the perfect dragon race?"

"The so-called perfect evolution is the ultimate evolution that can maintain divine wisdom. Even if she evolves into a dragon, she is still your daughter. With her obedience to you, she can destroy the world for you, which is the reason you have been raising her so far."

“And if you get God's fetal blood, you'll use it on yourself?"

"It seems that only using it on myself is the safest way. I wanted to try it on Chime as well, but that boy is too hard to control, a viper's heart hidden under a feminine appearance!"

You speak the words but your playful manner has gone and been replaced with a numb realization that so long as Herzog was alive, you’d never find peace. You had a sisterhood and love with Renata but she was shot in front of you. You had just found love again before Herzog had Chance assassinated. And now that you had finally taken solace in a man like Ruri Kazama and bonded as a sister again with Erii, here he was threatening them both.

It would never end. Next would be Caesar, Chu Zihang, Lu Mingfei and then, once he was finished with you, you would be next. The man was a bottomless pit. He had no attachments, no empathy. Nor could he have them even if he wanted to. He’s whole life’s view was eat-or-be-eaten. There was no such thing as balance, no such thing as co-existence.

What he liked to call evolution was nothing but eternal slaughter, breathtaking in its scope. It was hard to believe someone like him could exist. You were horrified and amazed. While you have made decisions to kill others before, for the first time, you’re confronted with someone who had to die in the most absolute of terms.

You speak up again after listening for a bit. “Herzog and Erii were both exposed to dragon blood and started to turn into dragons, but were unable to complete the process. He says they were semi-evolved. Half-evolved. Bondarev has the raw materials Herzog needs, and Herzog has the methods and research to create the evolution medicine. They have agreed to work together.”

You didn’t believe they would really work together. At the first opportunity they would fight to the death. There was very little difference between these two men and the deadpool sphinxes in the mural hall of Genji Heavy Industries. Cannibals.

 "Damn it! How did the Tortoise get here?" Caesar suddenly snarled.

 "Brother!"

Caesar and Ruri Kazama spoke almost simultaneously, both in horror, but the messages conveyed in their tones of voice were completely different. Ruri’s uncontrolled dismay showed that Chisei was still special to him as his brother. Caesar was more concerned about the success of the mission.

“We haven’t had time to blockade Tokyo Tower yet! Tachibana Masamune might still escape!” Caesar shouted.

"Quick! Seal the elevator and the iron ladder! Brother may not have a chance to win against the King General! He will underestimate him!" Ruri Kazama said urgently.

While Caesar was concerned about Tachibana escaping, Ruri Kazama wanted to keep Chisei out of the clutches of Herzog.

"Calling Ruri! Calling Ruri! Change of plan! We're going up the tower now to intercept the King General, you stand by for a kill!" Caesar called loudly.

There was only rustling background noise in your headset. Ruri Kazama's voice disappeared. Caesar switched between different channels, and there was no answer from Ruri Kazama in each channel.

Ruri Kazama might have turned off the communication device or discarded it, in any case, he was detached from the communication network.

“I knew we couldn’t count on that guy!” Caesar yelled in annoyance.

Just like that, the entire operation was in disarray. You didn’t know what happened to him. Maybe an assassin had found him. Maybe Ruri was already dead! “Wait! He said we should stop Chisei!”

Caesar’s voice brooked no arguments. “Ruri Kazama withdrew from the mission. It’s up to us, the commissioners of the Cassel Academy, to carry out the mission of the Secret Party. Since both the King General and Tachibana Masamune have personally admitted to wanting to resurrect the White King, then they have already committed the felony of being enemies of the entire human race and have to be wiped out right now! MC! Lu Mingfei! Prepare your rifles!”

You hesitate. Ruri Kazama specifically told you that not even Chisei Gen was certain to be able to kill the King General. While Caesar was strong and clever and resourceful, he couldn’t rival Chisei's pure brute force. You look down at your sniper rifle in dismay. You heard the King General say that he was a semi-evolved dragon. This rifle was absolutely useless! You throw it down and turn and run.

Mingfei turned his head. “MC! What are you doing!”

The fastest way down the building was the stairwell and you leap down flights at a time. You feel like you were too slow no matter how fast you run! You burst out of the ground floor exit door and streak across the Tokyo Tower’s main plaza. You don’t see Chisei anywhere but you urge yourself to go faster! Lighting flashes and illuminates the black veins on your wrist and black veins peeking out from the collar of your shirt. They pulse like tentacles. You’re running unnaturally fast, fast like a demon, like a werewolf, pushed by the superhuman force of your dragon blood. You didn't need to use blood rage this time. Your condition really was deteriorating, bit by bit. Now Blood Rage was only a thought away.

You reach the stairs faster than any sprinter and start to climb up as fast as you can!

Then you hear footsteps behind you. You whirl to confront who was following.

In the dark and the wind and the rain, you were once again facing Chisei Gen.

Chisei Gen came stepping through the storm, his windbreaker flying like a battle flag in the gale. He was looking up high into the sky, his pupils flowing with the color of molten iron. There is no need for him to sneak. He is an emperor, the absolute emperor. Any opposition he faced he would simply crush with absolute violence.

So you shrink and make yourself as small as possible. “I can’t fight you. I can only tell you that you’re making a mistake! Don’t go up there!”

“What are you doing here?” The sword Onimaru glittered like pure ice in the rain.

“We received intelligence on this meeting from your brother. Caesar and Chu Zihang are also on the way to kill Herz… I mean, the King General and Tachibana for crimes against the Secret party. The King General is a half dragon. Chime didn’t believe you could defeat him and wanted us to stop you from going up.”

At the mention of the name ‘Chime’, Chisei’s eyes burned bright in the dark and the pupils narrowed to needles! He moved like the wind, crushing you against the iron stairs. The metal risers slam into your back leaving deep bruises. Pain explodes in your legs and you realize that he’s broken them. You scream and seize his hair, the only way you feel you can detain him. He’s amber reptilian eyes burn into yours. He snarls low. “I’ll interrogate you later.”

“Fine.” You sob, shaking, pale, and sweaty with pain. You release him. “Go die. Chime is the only one who cares about you anyway.”

Chisei’s eyes widen and then suddenly distance and dim and, for a moment, they revert back to their dark natural color. He looked so much like his brother in this state -- soft, sad, lonely. Those eyes were full of pain and regret. The rain ran in rivers down his face like tears. So little got to him, but those words did.

He straightened up over you and rushed off, flying up the stairs like an eagle, leaving you on the stairs in a curtain of rain. Your legs hurt so bad you want to swoon and every time you look down the world spins and you want to throw up.

“So… how’s it going?”

“How did I know you were going to show up?”

Z sits on the stairs and sighs deeply, holding an umbrella over your head. “Because I’m always by your side. Unlike some people.” He moves his hand to rest it on your hair and then retracts it. “I really do support you. You’re important. And I would rather things have gone my way with our relationship. But, like I said, I can’t make you do something like that. Like the genie in Aladdin. I can’t make you love me.” He chuckled. “But… like the genie, I can fix your legs. And I’ll do that.”

“Why… would you help me? I’m so confused.” You lift your head from the cold metal step. He was still in his fashionable suit and leather shoes.

“I didn’t tell you much when I was courting you, you think I’m going to tell you things now?” He laughed. “You’re doing amazing things. At least, I think you are. Hard to tell.” He turned to look at you with his golden eyes, then his eyes lift up to the stairs where Chisei disappeared. “It’s like the butterfly effect. Tiny little changes that don’t seem to matter have a cumulative effect. Now I’m curious. Hm…” He laughed, musing to himself. “Anyway. Your ride will take a few minutes to get here. In the meantime, I have to let you stay wounded so you don’t wander off and die prematurely. When it’s time to go. You’ll know.” Z stood up and walked away, stepping off the staircase and walking through the rain with nothing but open air beneath him until he vanished out of sight.

You lay on the steps, taking one breath at a time. It was hard not to moan but surely no one heard you over the torrential rain. Your mind drifted to Caesar Gattuso who would probably kill you even if you survived this. Or at least fiercely scold you. He would ask you what you were thinking, running off and confronting a furious Chisei Gen alone. You should have known he’d crumple you like paper. Caesar’s supposed to be the only one with the harebrained ideas.

You wondered what you were thinking. And you recall Ruri Kazama’s desperate words.

Brother!

It wasn’t just any exclamation. Chime was terrified of losing Chisei. His twin brother.

You hear a sudden loud bang, like there was a car collision right above you. As you look, a dark shape looms towards you. You feel a sudden jolt of fear! Metal bits and shredded dark pieces of cloth are raining all around your head and you hear the rattle of machine gun fire from the stairs!

“Ouch! … oh… Ow! Ow!”

A man-shaped thing was moaning while dangling by a rope between the shadowy metal struts of Tokyo tower. You recognized the voice. “Fingel?”

He sighed, whimpering. He was spinning while holding on to a thick rope. “Oh hey girly. Fancy meeting you here.”

“What happened?”

“Uh… the King had an escape plan. A big ol’ metal blimp! Bigger than mine! Haha!” He flinched. “Ow.”

You push yourself upright and suddenly realize that your pain is gone! You look down at your legs. 

They were fine.

At that moment, far more ferocious weapons than assault pistols boomed on the far roof of the building. It was Mingfei!

“The King’s escaping?” You grip the hand rail and pull yourself up. Your legs are wobbly, like you’d been sitting for hours, but they didn’t hurt.

“Yeah… I’m… I’m done here.” Fingel wearily groaned. “I want ramen… and more of that miso soup. I think I’m going to get out of the way. Good luck!” Fingel suddenly started sliding down the rope.

“Hey get back here! I don’t… I don’t have any weapons!” You lean against the hand rail to look down but he is already gone. You grumble to yourself. “Dog with no morality.”

“You can always join meeeee….” Fingel shouted from below.

He was right. You could go home right now. But Ruri was still out there. He might need your help. And… your legs were fine. You sigh deeply.

Chisei was an idiot. He didn’t listen. He never listened. He had a set path, a script to follow and he was following it without delay.

But Chime loved him. 

You push away from the railing and turn away from Fingel and dash up the stairs. You climb on healed legs until you reach the top of the stairs. The outer observation deck was completely covered in broken glass. Every window had been blown out. Chisei Gen was standing on the observation deck with submachine guns but he didn’t even notice you. He was staring into the distance and you follow his gaze.

The King General’s blimp was still aloft, but it was disabled. The man was hanging on by a ladder and buffeted like a limp doll in the wind. Immediately, something like a light black hawk took off from the rooftop of the building next to him, the gusty wind pounding its wings, carrying it to the sky. When the lift was exhausted and this strange bird reached the apex of it’s climb, it turned violently and swooped down like thunder and lightning.

it was a black glider, and under the glider hung a dressed-up Ruri Kazama!

 He was wearing a dazzling kimono, his robe and sleeves danced in the wind and rain. He carried his cherry red sword in his hand. Even without makeup, his plain white face was as beautiful as a supreme heavenly maiden, but with a lion-like smile.

He came in full costume to kill!

The blimp’s rudder was broken. It couldn't dodge and everyone could only watch Ruri Kazama's performance. The black wings hid the General from everyone’s eyes and no one knew his last expression. Whether he changed that mask-like smile.

 Ruri Kazama brushed past the hanging ladder and cut off the King General's head with a single slash.

That was not the end of it. With his gliding wings, he expertly whirled around the King's corpse in a very tight circle, and the second slash cut the king in half at the waist. The third cut severed the hanging ladder. The King's body fell in pieces in the pouring rain, and Ruri Kazama waved his sword in the air to remove the blood on it, and his glider carried him into the buildings ahead.

This was the real trap with no way out, where the strongest bloodline ability cannot be brought to bear. Ruri Kazama understood that Herzog would never entrap himself in the tower. He already guessed that he would have an airship prepared to escape, but, because Ruri did not trust anyone, he didn’t say anything to anyone.

Not even you.

The air was filled with his laughter after he had won, like the laughter of an actor on stage, so exaggeratedly contrived, but hollow and sad. He hated Herzog so much. Your mind fills with questions. Why did he hate him so much? How many years did he prepare to kill this man?

“Chime…” Chisei’s eyes were full of questions and confusion too.

He finally noticed your presence and stiffened, hand on his sword. But you don’t move. “Do you believe me now?” You ask.

Chisei’s hand released. “How.”

“Oh this?” You shake one leg at him. “The ghost of my dead boyfriend came and healed me.”

Chisei’s gaze unfocused and you realized that you meant Z but Chisei was thinking of Chance. “I won’t ask your forgiveness.” He said.

“Good.” You bark a laugh. “I guess that means you’re not a total idiot.” You cross your arms over your chest and smirk.

Chisei sighs, but he smiles a bit. “Even in a dire situation as this, you make me laugh.”

“I have a feel for a dragon’s sense of humor. If the dragon is laughing, it cannot eat you.” You tilt your head slightly.

“And why are you here?” Chisei looked past you.

Moving like a shadow and completely unnoticed by you, Sakura Yabuki stepped forward. She had been at your back, ready to kill you if needed. You feel a sudden chill, but the danger was already over before you noticed it.

"As a result of a discussion with Crow. It was expected that you would come to the special observation deck, so I decided to send men to protect you." Sakura's answer was curt, "I was the only one suitable for the job, so I came."

Lithely muscled, tall, in a black bodysuit and face half covered, Sakura Yabuki was made to live in the shadows. You’d only seen her a few times on your arrival, but hadn’t seen her again since. It was probably a good thing. She didn’t seem to be the type who let you see her at all, unless she was the last thing you ever saw.

What stands out to you though was that subtle humor. Your eyebrows raise. She was funny!

You hear a soft grunt. Bondarev was holding his chest. He smiled that winning smile up at you. “MC. Long time no see!”

Anger rose from the soles of your feet to the top of your head and you stare down at him, fiercely judging. “What’s done is done. I’m not into revenge.”

“Yes… I will… face the judgement of God.” Bondarev hung his head slightly.  “Chisei… let this girl go. She’s caught up in it. She’s innocent.”

“Cut the crap, Bondarev.” You say in sharp blistering Russian. He looks up at you again, eyes wide. “You’re not going to fool me. The minute I turn around, you’ll have me killed. This will end in blood because you don’t know how to live any other way.”

For a moment, Bondarev’s blue eyes sparkled. His Russian was smooth and unbothered by his injuries. “You’ve… learned Dr. Herzog’s lessons very well.”

Your lips quirk up in a smile. 

Chisei’s eyes bounce from your face to his. “You … know each other?”

“Long story.” You back away from all of them, hands raised. “Do what you need to. I won’t interfere.”

"We must hurry up and get someone to clean up the scene," Bondarev said.  "...and call a doctor for me."

"You've been taking some kind of drugs, haven't you?" Chisei Gen asked.

In the low light, you noticed an abnormal sheen on his body. It was the play of the light on small ivory scales.

"It's worse than that, it's preserved fetal blood, but with serum therapy, it's no problem to live for another few years or even a decade." Tachibana smiled, "Maybe enough to live to attend your wedding."

You glance at him and he meets your eye. Why would he mention that in front of you? Speaking in English, a language you would understand... Did he think you didn’t know about the serum treatment? He knows you’re dying and is dangling that in front of you. But you’re covered. Caesar would make sure to knock him off his throne and give you the leadership of Japan and the serum treatment without the constant threat of death. You respond to his look with a derisive snort and an unpleasant grin. You drawl in Russian. “No, thanks.”

The rain was still falling. The wind was sweeping across the special observation deck and carried a faint cry to your ears.

‘Tachibana’ froze for a few seconds and a great fright came into his eyes. He retreated step by step towards the interior. Chisei and Sakura also retreated with him. The majestic wind and rain seems to hide something more terrifying than even the King General.

Surprised, you turn to look for yourself.

A black shadow rose slowly from below the observation deck. The heavy rain hit its greenish-gray scales, breaking into a shining white mist. It unfolded several meters wide wings gently waving them in a graceful rhythm. A long snaky fish tail slowly stretches below its body.

Its long, dark hair is disheveled in the wind and rain, hiding its pretty female face. The corners of its mouth moved slightly, as if to laugh out loud, but what came out was a baby-like cry, and its mouth was full of thorny sharp teeth.

Flying Deadpool.

Not one but a group. They rose up from all directions, as if they were flying snakes in ancient frescoes, a sight that in the legends of all ancient civilizations heralded cataclysm.

[darling-i-read-it]

Mine

Sidney Prescott x fem!reader

Word Count: 900

Warnings: readers in the closet 

Author’s Note: I thought about it and went, yeah, imma use my bag of character names and write from speak now. I’m just gonna go in order of the songs for a while because they’re all so good bPlus, I’ve always wanted to write for Sidney. 

Summary: based loosely on the song ‘mine’ by taylor swift

Genre: fluff

Song:

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif) (she do be my best girl) 

    When you met Sidney you were young and you were careful. The two of you had spent most of your lives with boyfriends and when you went into high school it remained the same. You met her in elementary school, which is to say you had known her your whole life.

    You were fifteen when you really realized you liked girls. Fifteen and a half when you realized you were in love with your best friend, imagining that she would never love you back. She liked Billy. What else was there to say about it. She liked Billy and she liked boys. Not you. 

    “Hey, you wanna go out to the lake later?” Sidney asked, peeking her head into your room. You raised your eyebrow. 

    “When did you get here?” you asked, laughing. She shrugged.

    “I’m always here. At this point, I live here. I figured we could go down there away from the hype of the new movie coming out.” Stab was coming out soon and as expected, it wasn’t doing wonders for Sidney and her need to move past the murders of Woodsboro. You luckily had just narrowly missed her murderer boyfriend. How you did that you were still unsure; you were pretty sure he knew you were in love with Sidney.

    “Yeah sure. I’ll meet you outside.” She nodded, slipping away. You quickly threw on a hoodie to mask how gloomy the day had gotten and was able to slip away from your roommates. You and Sid were both going to the Woodsboro college as she attempted to get back to normal. You had suggested you just get a dorm together but her dad thought it would be dangerous being in such a close proximity just in case the next Stab killer came after Sidney and therefore you.    

    You met her outside where she was waiting in her car. You slipped into the passenger seat, smiling as you did so.

    “I can’t believe you’re willing to go to the lake,” you admitted. She shook her head and then turned her head to face you. Her bangs hung over her forehead lightly. She must have recently brushed through them.   

    “Turning a new leaf.” 

    It was a short drive down to the lake and you barely noticed any time had gone by you were chattering so much. Conversation with Sidney had always been rather easy. She had been your best friend forever after all.

    There was a nice little hidden piece of the lake, shrouded by trees that held some chairs and plenty of empty beer cans. You used to come here a lot with Billy and Stu but since then you and Sid had repurposed it.

    She slammed down on the one of the chairs. You laughed, shaking your head. You sat down on the rock underneath her chair. You picked it up, tossing a rock into the still water. 

    “Did you hear about Gale Weathers? I guess her book rights were fucked up or something,” you muttered. Sidney was silent for a moment which was odd and then she slid off the chair beside you.

    “How come you haven’t had a boyfriend?” she asked quietly. You shrugged.   

    “Because the last one you had tried to kill you and I took note.” She laughed, shaking her head.

    “Come on. The real reason.” 

    The water was glistening in the little sunlight coming through the trees. Sid was wearing a sweater and jeans and you couldn’t help but wonder if she was warm.

    “I’m in love with someone who will never love me back.” 

    She took a deep breath. You could feel her eyes on you. You could only barely look over at her but you mustered to look. Her eyes reached yours and there was a moment of silence as you waited.

    It took her only a minute to make up her mind and then she lurched forward, kissing you. You were so surprised you nearly didn’t kiss back. You had often thought about what kissing her would feel like but she exceeded every expectation. When she pulled away, her hand on your cheek, she smiled.

    “I sure hope you were talking about me.” 

    “Yes. Yes I was,” you laughed. She smiled and you couldn’t bring yourself to move any further away from her than you were. You thought that might be betraying the service she did you in kissing you.

    “That’s why you hated Billy.”

    “Billy tried to kill you that is very just reason to h-”

    “I mean before he did that.” You rolled your eyes and grinned.

    “Fine. That’s why I hated him.” She shook her head.

    “I’ve always been yours. Even when I was with him,” she promised. You shook your head, not believing her words. 

    “Then you’re the best thing that’s ever been mine.” 

    “You better believe it.”

[justkurotingz]

agent y/l/n (2)

the second part of the series! tbh i planned to write this later but quarantine has got me sooooo bored :’c hope you enjoy <3

angsty, lil fluff <3

A/N: half of this is probably super inaccurate so i guess this would be more of a canon/alternate universe, but bear with me!

word count: 1.6k

“our unsub is TEN?!” morgan did a double take, and garcia sighed. “yup baby boy. ryan carter, 10 years old. he has dark brown hair, freckles and green eyes.” spence spoke up, directing your attention to him. “for an unsub to be this young, some form of immensely early childhood trauma must have severely impacted him. he may be suffering from a psychotic break.”

your heart ached for the poor child that had suffered so much it brought him to kill two people for a peace of mind. “wait a second.” you peered at the pictures of the victims spence had pinned up. “kyla neyers and tori luis look awfully similar. the eyes, the hair, look at the way their noses arch. the boy-” “ryan.” hotch corrected and you bit your lip, “sorry, ryan must be targeting people that look like someone from his childhood.”

“well, from his family history I can tell you his mother died in childbirth so ryan never would have met her.” garcia’s voice floated in and hotch turned to the team. “try relatives on the moms side. aunts, cousins maybe?” garcia sighed, “mom had no siblings, and her parents live in russia. ryan probably would have never seen them face to face.” “alright, dad’s side then.” emily shrugged, and garcia sucked in air through her teeth.

“apparently, his birth certificate never lists a father. single mom maybe, the father dumped them?” spence frowned and you spoke up. “we’ve got to find his father.” “already on it sweet cheeks.” “thanks pen.” you smiled and cut the intercom. 

“so ryan could be living with his father.” emily pondered, and jj nodded. “he couldn’t have survived on the streets as a baby, and no adoption records exists. his father might have abused him causing ryan to act out and run away.” 

“what if his father has been killing women and forced ryan to help? he might have a type, blue eyes, brunette, high arched nose bridges....” you trailed off and spence’s eyes lit up. “right! and after ryan escaped, he went back to doing the only thing he knows, killing women that look like kyla, tori, and possibly other women his father killed.”

“that’s awful.” jj whispered and you nodded. “i know. we need to stop him, he’s probably just a scared kid.” “who killed two women.” hotch interrupted, and grabbed his coat as garcia’s voice crackled through the intercom. “alright, i found a string of murders in the early 2010′s with victims that look like ours. the suspect was a william gale, but he escaped before arrest. sending his last known address now, he’s local and he definitely could be ryan’s father.”

“got it, let’s go.” hotch said, and everyone rushed to the cars. as morgan drove, you glanced out the window. “you ok?” spence’s voice transported you back into reality. “yeah, just...” “i know, it’s sad.” your best friend spoke up. “studies show the child is unable to escape from the abusive, damaging childhood dynamic. it occurs before the child’s sense of self is formed, therefore ryan is reverting back to what he knows, his father.”

“we’re here.” morgan’s voice cut through spencer’s spiel of facts and you nodded. “federal agents!” no answer. morgan breached and we checked the rooms of the house out. “clear!” you sighed until you heard the soft cock of a gun.

“ryan?” you turned around very slowly to come face to face to a young boy, about 10. he was about 4 feet tall, and had a gun pointed at your torso. his freckles contrasted his bright green eyes and your heart sank. “ryan, i’m agent y/l/n. please put down the gun.” your voice was soft, calm in contrast to his shaking arms.

“i-i didn’t mean to kill them. i didn’t mean to hurt anybody. i don’t know who i am anymore. i’m a monster!” he cried and without thinking, you tossed your gun aside. “y/n!” hotch hissed behind you, and you realize everybody was watching.

“don’t look at them, look at me ryan. you can call me y/n. i set down my gun, look.” you pointed to your gun, a foot away from you both. “can you set down yours? i just want to talk to you. put down the gun.” “no! you’ll hurt me!” 

“i promise, nobody is going to hurt you. we just want to help you ryan. i know you didn’t mean to kill anybody.” he faltered, hope spilling into his eyes. “y-you do?” “yes.” you confirmed and moved on, “and if you set down the gun, nothing’s going to happen to you. you have to trust me baby.” you whispered and he shook his head.

“i know you’re scared, look, i’ll take off my vest. i know you’re not going to hurt me.” moving slowly, to the shock of your team, you slipped your vest over your shoulders. “it’s just me. just me i promise you, there’s nobody else here that matters. i know what your father made you do. he made you kill those women and bury them after he did bad things to them didn’t he?” ryan nodded and you closed your eyes, taking a shaky breath.

“put down the gun ryan. we’re gonna get him. i swear, we’re going to catch your father and he’s going to go away for a very long time. but you’re not like that. you’re just a small boy. can you put down the gun baby? please, for me?” he paused, lowering the gun, but didn’t drop it.

“ryan, baby you have to set the gun down. all the way down. i promise, nothings going to happen to you.” “wh-where’s my mom?” he whispered and your heart broke for the third time today. “oh baby, what did he tell you?” “he said mommy didn’t want me, so mommy ran away.” you looked sharply to the left, the tears in your eyes now streaming down your face.

“don’t cry!” he said in concern and you opened your arms. he dropped the gun and rushed into your arms, giving you a big hug. “no sweetie, your mommy wanted you. she wanted you so so much. ryan, i went to college with your mom.” you heard the intake of breath of your entire team behind me, and continued with the story. “she was the sweetest person i ever know. she looked exactly like you. she was funny, smart, and wore the craziest socks ever. she even had four pairs of pizza socks.” that brought a smile to ryan’s face and you smiled.

“she died baby, she died after giving birth to you.” “i-i killed mommy?” his face fell, tears leaking out of his eyes. “oh no baby, no. no, you didn’t kill mommy. it was just mommy’s time to go. she loved you very very much and i know she’s sorry she couldn’t be there for you and help you.” he was quiet, then wrapped his arms tightly around you. “i’m so sorry.” you whispered, kissing his cheek, holding him tightly. “it’s ok auntie y/n. i know im gonna go to jail because that’s where bad guys go. can you come visit me?” “’all the time, i promise.” you smiled and he beamed, slipping out of his arms. “bye bye!” he waved and you gently waved back as he walked out with emily. as soon as he was out of sight, you fell to the floor, sobbing. “hey, hey, hey.” spence gently lifted you from the ground, but you couldn’t even stand, so he had to hold you tightly to him.

“i didn’t know. i didn’t know ryan was her child. but i saw her in him. he’s just 10.” you wrapped your hands around spence and the two of you stayed like that for a long time, until hotch came back in, telling you both it was time to leave.

the trip back was quiet, and only when you were back in the office hotch turned on you. “do you realize how incredibly stupid that was!” he hissed and you nodded, staring at the ground. “it worked.” jj spoke up and emily furrowed her eyebrows. “that was one of the most moving moments i’ve ever witnessed. the boy was 10, and practically related to y/n.” “she did good.” morgan confirmed and spence’s smile said wonders.

“if you ever attempt something like this.... i was so worried about you.” hotch sighed, his hand dropping from it’s menacing position and you smiled at him. “i’m ok, i just really want to go home.” “and that you will. goodnight y/n, i’m glad this didn’t go sideways.” with that, hotch left and the team hugged you. “that was so selfless.” jj whispered in your ear, giving you an extra squeeze, and then it was just spence and you. “let’s go to your place.” spence wrapped an arm around your waist and you two walked back to his apartment in silence, staring at the sky.

“i thought he was going to shoot.” spence admitted a while later when you were sitting on his couch. “spence, he’s 10. he wouldn’t have shot.” “you don’t know that!” he snapped, his irritation and frustration finally showing. “kids with severe childhood trauma can be dangerous and unpredictable! you almost died today!” “spence...” you trailed off, looking at his face. “i thought i lost you.” a tear trickled down his cheek and you hugged him tightly, crying yourself.

“i’m ok, i promise. i’m not that stupid.” your job took determination, compassion, wit, bravery and strength, but today your display of selflessness was the one that hit home that most.

[drethanramslay]

Part 4: Fight or flight

Pairing: Aurora x MC (Iris Everette)

Word count: 3.2 K words

Part 1   Part 2    Part 3

Warning: Fluff and a little description of abuse

Taglist: @miyakokurono @agent-breakdance @trappedinfandoms @lilyofchoices @sekizincimektup (let me know if you want to be tagged)

Songs: Emergency by Jay Sean and Clean by Taylor Swift

It had been a week since their fight in the supply closet and Aurora was in a flux of emotions. On one hand, she wanted her baby girl back in her arms and kiss her till the end of time. But, on the other hand, she was just so fucking pissed.

Iris had not come home to the apartment for a week. She stayed, showered and ate at the hospital. Aurora kept true to her promise and gave Iris her space, but that didn't mean it hurt less. The seventh day after the fight, Aurora was distraught.

She had headed to Sienna's room that night and one look at her face and Sienna declared that it was the "eat ice cream till you are sick" time. They saw so many cliche rom-coms and crying which resulted in Elijah wheeling into their room to see if both of them were okay. "Oh my god... Rom-coms really?! They are shit."

"No Eli, they are the shit." Sienna corrected him.

"Get in or get out Eli." Aurora said as she sniffled.

"Geez okay I will join you two to see how can girls cry to such cliche storylines."

Nonetheless, the three of them started crying towards the ending of Titanic.

"Rose is such a dumbass.. Like how COULD YOU LET SUCH A NATIONAL TREASURE DIE?!" Elijah screamed at the TV.

"Yo...I think we broke him." Aurora said as Elijah continued to cry.

"Nah... He will be fine. But what about you?" Sienna asked as she turned towards Aurora.

"Everything sucks."

"Big mood." Elijah chimed in.

"It's just...it feels like I am in a waiting room." Aurora sighed. Sienna sent a questioning gaze towards Aurora.

"It's like... Iris continuously hints about her past. I like her so much....I really do but, she just won't let me cherish her completely. She won't let me in.. She has just put me in that space where I know more that the anybody else but less to know her completely. I know I shouldn't complain, but..... I hate seeing her in so much pain and I want to erase the sufferings. I was to kiss her troubles away. I want to tell her that I am all in, that I will be with her, through thick and thin... But, she still holds me at an arms distance." Aurora sighed, as the pain resurfaced.

"Aww honey...." Sienna reached and hugged her. Aurora shuddered and the need to cry just became so overwhelming.

"I have known Iris for a year and half and let me tell you, she has changed. She laughs more, jokes more and smiles more. She was a withered bud but when you came into her life, she bloomed into a beautiful rose. Iris... had never had many people she could be herself around or count on. I think her mother was the last person who she truly was the real version of Iris, but after that, nobody. So she grew thorns, so that nobody can hurt her again. She had accepted the fact that she was going to be a alone forever. But then, you came. You transformed her. It's a damn great accomplishment if you ask me." Sienna said.

Aurora blew a raspberry. "Trust me I know that. And I am proud of her for slowly opening up. She is self sufficient, independent and so so strong...but she doesn't need to carry that burden alone. I want to share everything. The happiness, the sadness, the beautiful and the ugly. She deserves so much more..."

"I know Aurora I know... I spoke to her a couple of days ago."

"What happened?" Aurora asked, hoping that she didn't sound too pussy whipped.

Stop lying to yourself... You ARE pussy whipped.

"She looks like she got hit by a train. She had dark circles large enough to carry groceries, she zones out sometimes and she is really, really paranoid. Like the other day, Bryce just went to close her eyes, so that he could surprise her. She fucking grabbed his hands and had him on his ass in a blink of an eye!!"

"What?!" Aurora was shocked. This was certainly a new development. She thought to herself.

"I am not joking. Luckily everything is fine but damn, Queen B has some nasty bruises on his wrist."

"Shit." Maybe, just maybe there was something else affecting her and the 'break' was just the cherry on top.

Fuck I am such a selfish bitch..

"Don't." Sienna said before Aurora threw herself into the pit of self loathing.

"Huh?"

"Don't feel guilty. Don't beat yourself. You need to understand that you are pushing her to be a better person, a better friend, a better partner. You are constantly challenging and calling her out. And I believe, that the kind of love you both have, it can survive any storm."

"Love?!" Aurora asked, her eyes as wide as saucers.

"Duh! Everybody can see it that the both of you are completely and utterly in love. Everybody, but the two of you."

"Do you think its true?" Aurora asked, trying to wrap her mind around this concept.

Sienna rolled her eyes before muttering, "Gods, for two smart people with their IQ's above 120, you guys are hella dense."

Aurora looked down at her hands, deep in thought. She was never familiar with the concept of this kind of love. Sure, she 'loved' her parents and family, but love another human being? That to romantically? Never.

She was of a scientific background and she always brushed aside the concept of love. Earlier if you would have asked her ‘what was love?’ she would have said that it was just a rush of oxytocin. Just a flux of chemicals. But now, if she were to close her eyes and think about it, forest green eyes stared right back at her.

"Holy shit." Aurora breathed out.

"God finally EEEEEEE!! One down, one more to go. Just know, I am rooting for the both of you." Sienna said as she squeezed her hand.

"Also can you like hurry up and make up? I might end up losing fifty dollars to Bryce." Elijah chimed in.

"This guys have been BETTING on when we make up?!" Aurora asked in disbelief.

"Eli, SHH!" Sienna smacked him, bullshiting back and forth. But Aurora didn't pay attention to that.

She was in love.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Iris stepped to the back of the empty elevator and leaned against the wall, sighing. This week had been shit for her. Her girlfriend had called for a timeout, her asshole of a father was walking free on the streets, she had a panic attack, and she lost a patient.

She hated being so paranoid. She hated having to look over her shoulder every minute. She felt so guilty for hurting Bryce, and she profusely apologized by buying him his favourite tacos.

She shouldn't have to stay in such fear. Hadn't she suffered enough? Hadn't she lost enough already? Is her life nothing but a game for the man upstairs?

Being of a scientific bent of mind, the laws of her world were bound by logic and proof. She never really believed in the existence of God. But at moments of weakness, like now, she couldn't help but wonder who is responsible for fucking her life up.

The lift dinged, and she opened her eyes to see which floor it had opened on. But what she saw, made her eyes open wide.

Rory met her eyes and then looked down as she stepped into the lift. She pressed the button for the fourth floor where Iris was also heading.

"By the way, chief said that there is a storm incoming. He wanted everyone to be prepared incase of an emergency." Iris spoke up, cutting through the uncomfortable silence.

"Yeah...my aunt told me that. It also explains why they sent Dr. Ramsey and a couple of electricians to check on the backup generators."

Iris chuckled. "Yap. You should have seen the way he was grumbling and muttering quote unquote- 'God I hate that place...it gives me the heebie jeebies'."

"What?! No way!" She turned around to look at Iris, instantly regretting it. Iris looked like shit. Her eyes were bloodshot and she was so tired that she had to lean against the wall of the elevator for support. 

"If you don't believe it, I can ask Baz to send the video to you. Chief had a kick out of it."

Aurora giggled. "Okay, send it to me Adara."

Iris winced and Rory turned towards the elevator doors, the awkward silence settling in. It was slowly suffocating her. She thought that the deafening silence would continue indefinitely, but Aurora spoke up.

"I just...I miss you."

Iris looked up to see the back of Rory's head.

"I miss you too Rory..."

Aurora's heart soared and shattered at the same time. God she missed that nickname so much.

"Adara... Please. Just...please."

Iris shuddered. Just a simple plea, but it held so much meaning. She walked ahead and stood next to her. Aurora found herself leaning towards her, missing the warmth and comfort Iris gave her.

"Rory, I am so sorry... But I can't. It was never my intention to hurt you. You deserve someone strong and willing to be by your side... I am not that. My emotional burden will drown you."

"Adara, I will be the judge of that. If you just-"

"Baby, I care about you alot. And, I don't want you to get hurt... Just know that I am so damn lucky to have had you... for those seven months, I am so, so greatful." She proceeded to kiss Aurora's cheek, before exiting the lift.

Aurora was stunned. She reached to feel the place where Iris kissed her.

She couldn't help but wonder why Iris's words sounded like a final goodbye.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everything was okay. There weren't any accidents so far and the electricity was still running. Iris sat in the diagnostics room staring at the window, watching the rain drops pelt mercilessly on the glass window and the trees dancing to the tune of the gale.

She always found the rain soothing. It helped her escape. She could spend hours looking at the rain drops, racing each other to the bottom of the window. Her mom used to make hot chocolate for her on such rainy days. They would cuddle on the sofa, and have endless movie marathons. It's one of the happy memories she remembered from her past.

She always cherished those moments with her mom. Life at home may have been hell, but her mother's spirit did not once break. She was so strong and brave. She was kind and loved with all her heart. Iris always wondered if she would ever be half the woman her mom was or the fact that would her mother be proud of the way Iris turned out to be.

Guess we will never know.

Her pager beeped and she looked down to see what it said. 'Report to the nurses station on the fourth floor. Your lawyer is here.'

Huh, that's strange. Thomas said that he won't come till next week..

Shrugging off her doubts she started heading to the fourth floor. She walked down the long, empty hallway whistling. It was just a front but deep down, she had a feeling that she was being watched. She turned to look behind but there was no one following her.

You are just being paranoid Iris... 

But isn't it better to be safe than sorry?

She turned the corner and she collided with someone.

"Oh, I am so sorry-" Iris said as she backed a little and straightened her scrubs. She then looked up and she was completely frozen. She felt as if she was sucker punched in the gut. All the breath left her body.

He was here.

"Oh no its my- Oh." A cruel smile slowly etched into his face. He had aged, which was pretty obvious but prison made him look rugged with white hair peppering his balding head and his eyes looked more maniacal.

"Hello mija."

She had dreamt their encounter many times before. How she would punch the fuck out of his face, and break his left wrist, the way he used to break hers. She would beat him up so hard that he would end up in the emergency room. Those imaginations were so graphic, that she could taste the blood of that monster on the tip of her tongue.

But, at the end of the day it was only fantasy. Dreams are those tantalizing flames, which help keep the fire in us alive, while reality on the other hand, is a bucket of cold water, smothering those flames.

She just stood there in shock. It felt as if her head had been dunked into water. She saw his lips move and the people walking around them, but she couldn't hear a thing. Her breath was getting shorter and shorter. She felt weak. Pathetic. Just like the sixteen year old who lay there on the floor, awaiting her death.

No, no, no, I can't go into a panic attack right now.

"IRIS!!" Grayson shook her shoulders. "NO! Get the fuck away from me asshole!" Iris said as she tried to push him away. She felt like a bucket of maggots had been poured inside her shirt. She felt dirty, filthy and gross.

"Iris what has come over you sweetheart? You weren't like this before.." Grayson said, his face morphed into fake concern but she could see the anger and the bloodlust shining in his hazel eyes.

"Don't TOUCH ME!!" She exclaimed as she finally got him to take his grubby hands off her. And he had the audacity to act hurt. This bitch should get a fucking award for his acting.

"Hey, hey, hey." Ethan stepped between the father and daughter. "Sir, I will have to ask you to back away right this instance." Ethan said, in a voice so cold, that it could have withered a blooming flower.

Grayson held his"There is nothing going around here son. Just a father and daughter reconnecting after a decade. Ain't that mija?"

"Don't listen to him. He is a world class manipulator and a habitual liar. Get him the fuck out of here." Iris spat out, her voice poisonous.

Ethan turned to look at her, his eyes asking if this was the man who she had a restraining order against. Iris nodded subtly.

"I'm sorry sir, but you are causing a scene in a hospital, where people are sick and they need the quiet."

"No problem so- what's your name?"

Don't tell him, don't tell him, don't-

"Dr. Ethan Ramsey."

GODDAMMIT ETHAN. Just can't keep his fucking trap shut. She knew, that he would come for Ethan.

"Well Ethan, I don't mean to cause any problems. I am just here to take my girlie for a coffee.. have a chat." He smiled in a friendly way but, everybody knows that the term 'chat' means thrashing.

"I SAID NO. I don't want anything to do with you asswipe."

"How dare you-" Grayson's face twisted into a furious scowl. Iris just cowered behind Ethan.

"Sir, with all due respect, leave." Ethan said as two security guards started moving towards them.

"Alright, alright. There is no need to be so aggressive. I am nothing but a old man. What would I do? Beat up someone?" The last question directed towards Iris, his eyes gleaming. A chill went down her back, out of intense fear.

"I will meet you soon mija... And when we will.... we will have all the time in the world to catch up."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Running.

Iris ran down the hallway, to a place where she could have some damn peace and quiet, which is kind of hard in a hospital crawling with patients, doctors and the grim reaper.

Her breath was getting frantic, and the need to breakdown was increasing with every step she took.

Get a hold of yourself Iris. It's just a little longer. You don't need to be a mess in front of him. You don't need him to have that power over you. Iris repeated that as a mantra as she half walked, half ran down the never-ending hallway, away from her haunting past.

She was just crossing the nurses' station where, Aurora stood, reading through her charts.

God, please don't notice me. I don't have it in me to face another heartbreak. Iris prayed.

A few nurses greeted her, and Iris nodded and smiled politely before her eyes landed on Aurora's cool, calculating ones. She quickly averted her eyes away, so that she would not betray the inner turmoil in her.

But, Aurora knew. Iris had that look in her eyes as if she would shatter like a porcelain vase. So, she shut her chart and followed the red head.

Iris had reached the lift, pressing the button continuosly, so that it could hurry the hell up. After what seemed like an eternity, it finally came and she stepped into the elevator. She pressed the button leading her to the basement.

There is a old on call room which is pretty faraway from the hospital's main rooms. So even if she broke things, screamed and howled, nobody would know.

She saw the doors closing and she let out a tired breath when Aurora nimbly slipped into the lift.

Can't I catch a fucking break?

"What happened, Iris? Seems like you saw a ghost. You look hella pale." Aurora asked as she leaned in the wall across Iris.

Iris grimaced. If only she knew that she was not very faraway from the truth.

"Nothing." She said as she looked down at the floor.

"I know it's not nothing, Adara." Aurora said quietly. Iris' eyes snapped up.

"Aurora please. Just let me be." Iris pleaded, looking up at the screen showing that she had just reached the second floor.

"Don't fucking lie to me.Something is going on, I can see it in your eyes." Aurora said as she stepped and stood before her.

She placed her hands on her cheeks, forcing her green eyes to meet with her dark brown ones. "Please tell me Adara. Please let me in. Please don't shut me out this time."

"Aurora....I don't want to hurt you. I am cursed. Don't waste tears on a dead woma-" She said as tears filled her eyes.

The lift shuddered to a stop. And it was dark for a moment before the emergency lights switched on. She turned towards Aurora, who was slowly realizing the situation they were stuck in.

The lift was stuck and so were the both of them. And this time, there was no escaping for Iris.

I had to type and retype this so many times because it just didn't feel perfect..

Anyways, the next chapter will be the finale and after that will be the epilogue. I am so excited ;)

like and reblog :)) let me know what you think