Work Text:
The last thing I taste before I enter a realm of semi-consciousness is herbal tea and sickly sweet syrup. I’m just at the edge of drifting off until an arm snaking around my neck prevents that. I’m instantly shocked with adrenaline, filled with the need to grasp a weapon, and turn my head to survey the surrounding threats—mutts? fire? tracker jackers?—until I realize they are nonexistent. I come to discover only Peeta sitting beside me on the couch and my family’s plant book resting on the coffee table with a pencil sandwiched between the pages. I relax fully, releasing a breath I wasn’t even sure I was holding. Peeta’s voice fades in, and it’s so familiar that I wonder how strong of a spell the sleep syrup put on me that I couldn’t register it at first.
“Sorry,” he says quietly. “Didn’t mean to wake you. Wanted to get you up to bed so you could sleep comfortably.” He proceeds to carefully splay his free arm across the back of my knees, holding me up steadily against him like I’m weightless.
“You don’t have to…” I pause. “You know, carry me,” I mumble sheepishly.
He lets out a soft chuckle at this. “Katniss, I’m not going to let you strain your foot while you climb up the stairs.”
I roll my eyes at this statement, but it’s probably true. I don’t think I could make it halfway up the staircase without a painful sensation making its appearance and causing me to trip all over the place. My face burns a bright red just thinking about how that would play out, especially the humiliation I would feel in front of Peeta. I suppose being carried isn’t nearly as bad as that, and I’m far too tired to argue with him that I could do it myself.
As we start moving towards my room, I shift my attention to the lack of space between us with how tightly I am pressed to his chest, how when I look up, my eyes subconsciously trace his facial features like I want to frame them, how secure I am in his proximity, and it sends a ripple of giddiness through me. The downside of sleep syrup is that it makes me a ton more daring than usual, and I can’t stop myself from smiling no matter how hard I try. Then I take note of how much muscle he has been putting on recently. And at that moment, the syrup must have been infused with an additional amount of boldness that earns his forearms a feather-like brush of my fingers. It’s subtle and tender and lasts for a second, but I’m sure he feels it, just as I feel my heart picking up speed.
“Maybe I should hurt my heel more often,” I murmur when we reach my bedroom door, “if it means you would carry me around like this all the time.”
“You don’t have to injure yourself for me to take care of you. I would’ve began carrying you every night if you’d asked me earlier. Your happiness is all that matters to me,” he states firmly, and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I don’t reply, but I hope my gratitude towards him is discernible somehow. He gently lets me down on my bed, pulls the covers over me, shuts off the lights, and I sigh as I curl up. I fall asleep almost immediately, but not before Peeta bids me goodnight and makes his way to the door that I feel I don’t want him to leave.
“Peeta.” I clutch his wrist hurriedly, and the gesture burns with passion. “Stay with me.”
“Okay,” He whispers back. I’m satisfied to find no hesitation in his voice.
He climbs in with me, and we lie there, side by side. I didn’t know it was possible to feel so far away from someone in the same bed, but the distance between us becomes almost angering. I slowly inch my way closer to him and am relieved when he welcomes me with open arms. I unravel in his embrace, reveling in the fact that it’s just as comforting as those nights we spent together on the Victory Tour. He mutters a word that I’m lucky enough to catch before the world fades to nothing.
“Always.”