Chapter Text
Surrounding me is a heavy, thick atmosphere that bears its weight ruthlessly on my own chest. The visions flicker, young faces, blood, and his beautifully broken sunken in eyes.
I’m hauled out of the enclosure and return back to truth with a startle and gasp. Of course strong, gentle arms surround me in safety.
He is golden
Always there when my mind is doomed. I’m unsure how, but he makes things more bearable. Of course I attempt to return the favors as often as possible. I’m held in as securely as I’ll ever be. At home, in our bed, inside his grasp.
“Hey,” Peeta’s soft voice trails off. Comforting me, he shushes and whispers and his hand on a track up and then back down my arm. “It’s alright, you’re safe Katniss, I’ve got you”. My eyes dart across the room uncontrollably trying to forget the things that were just very real. I force them shut, and bury him. He understands, we both are frequent flyers when it comes to nightmares. My mind still reels, but his steady heart calms my head to a degree. It’s refreshing being able to act on Peeta without the prying eyes of every single camera in the Capitol. Our actions are genuine.
What the Capitol did to him still enrages me. Every cell in my being threatens to boil over. I try to grab the thought and push it away, far back and out of reach but the task is harder than anticipated. He’s safe, I repeat over and over again in my head. I press closer to him making the thought more real.
Peeta’s fallen asleep. I hope for a soft sleep free of nightmares for him.
The two of us are deep in the hold of sleep when Peeta starts to tremble. Small, petrified sounds escape his lips. The idea that neither of us would sleep without nightmares is quixotic.
My muscle memory jumps into action without a thought -which I am grateful for- I reach out and attempt, unsuccessfully to wake Peeta. He erupts into a sitting position, hands on head, sweating, and breathes puffing wildly as if trying to let the remainder of the nightmare escape his vessel.
I rub his back. My hand catches his long-underwear shirt on a certain part, but I force my hand up and down. I’m trying to read his thoughts, what state he will be in once he grabs back onto reality. Our reality. He lurches towards me in a sudden jerk and it takes every ounce of composure I possess to not be afraid. But he’s only grabbing my arm in comfort. I clasp it in response.
When I first saw Peeta again following his hijacking, he had lurched hands first onto my neck. This being his greatest fault. My mind knows that Peeta doesn’t own culpability for these acts, the Capitol does. I know this, but I still feel a fear every once in a while and remember struggling, painstakingly for air and getting nowhere. I hate myself for it, Peeta can’t help it.
He’s melded into my arm by now,
“Katniss,” his voice stabs deep into my chest and I feel a lump pushing upwards my throat, “They took you from me,” Peeta pleads again and again. Shattering me along with him. Every. Single. Time. I think of what to say to him, what would help him the most, but Peeta’s the one who’s good with words.
I let Peeta rest his head on my chest and I enclose him in my arms, safe from any harm that dare threatens to take him down with it