Just a Game {Everlark}

Chapter 1

Boom.

The Hunger Games cannon sounds, waking me from my nightmare in a cold sweat the way it did last night. However, last nights encounter was signifying the start of the 74th Hunger Games. This one was the Quarter Quell.
Flashes of the dream float through my hazy, sleep-deprived state, but I'm already losing them. A lick of a flame as we're paraded for the crowds, the smouldering of my dress that resulted in Cinna's death. My eyes water. Cinna. His brutal beating is the only part of my dream that is still playing in screaming colour.

Two nights ago I dreamt about the bombing of District 12. I wasn't there, but in my dream I saw it all. I was walking through the seam, through the town, unable to prevent the horrors, to save anyone. I could only smile and repeat the lines I was taught so well.
'Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.'

I shake my head, forbidding further memories from floating to the surface. My room is dark but warm, and yet I'm shivering. My blankets are thrown around me, wrapped haphazardly around my legs. I am sat upright, and my eyes are physically stinging from exhaustion.

"Katniss?" A voice at my open bedroom door, casting a dim ray of light from the hallway.
At first I'm on high alarm, sucking in a fast breath and jerking my arm as I reach for an imaginary weapon.
Half a second is all it takes for me to recognize the voice. I look to my left to see the covers on the other side of the bed are tossed slightly too, and the pillow is askew.
"Peeta.." My voice is thick, as though I've been crying or sleeping for three years.
"Are you alright?" He's by my side in a moment, clutching a glass of water.
"No. It was-" my voice cracks, but I continue. "-it..it was the Q-quell. C-cinna..." I hadn't noticed the tears in my eyes until they dripped down my cheeks.
Peeta sets the glass down and climbs in my side of the bed, both of us taking up one pillow. He takes me in to his arms and I slot in easily, simply fitting, as I always do when it comes to Peeta.

He whispers soothing things in my ear until I fall asleep, my muscles relaxing and heart rate slowing.
Before I drift, I hear him tell me he loves me. I am asleep before I can say the same.

***
I wake again, hours later, to a bright room and the rhythmic breathing of Peeta Mellark. He's still holding me protectively, and I allow myself a few minutes to just enjoy the embrace.

Something I learnt from the games is that a victor never takes time to savour. In the games, you keep moving or you die. It is unbelievable, even still that its all over. Well..the games are. But not the pain. Never the pain.

I force my thoughts back down and wiggle myself adequately so that I can face Peeta, who is fast asleep.
I sometimes forget how handsome the boy really is. His blonde hair is getting a bit long now, and a stray lock is strewn across his forehead, as though placed there purposely. His eyelashes, long and pure ebony, naturally curl up at the ends. His strong jaw casts a dark shadow on his neck and I find myself longing for his eyes. His beautiful blue eyes that haven't been the same since the war. They look okay, but the longer I spend lost in them, the more broken fragments I find.

As if on cue, his eyes snap open, but I almost wish they hadn't. Bloodshot and tortured, they pour in to my own, wide and begging for help.

"Katniss.." he gasps my name, breathless, his chest rising and falling quickly and his mouth parted, as if he's been running for some time. We've both been running for too long. Running from Snow, running from flames, running from our past.

I offer my hand and he grips it like a lifeline, and there we stay, neither of us quite ready to get up yet.

Minutes, hours, maybe years later, Peeta lets go of my hand and sits up, stretching. I try not to take notice of his back muscles straining against his t-shirt.

Reluctantly, I also force myself up, sliding my legs out of the cozy confines of the sheets. An involuntary yawn escapes my lips as I pull on some socks, cold in just my camisole and pyjama shorts.

Turning around, I notice Peeta is gone, and I can her him clanging around downstairs. He's kept himself busy recently in the village, helping to rebuild the businesses, especially the bakery. Today is his only day off, a Sunday, from his self-designated work schedule. Deep down, I know that it isnt good for him to pile on the work to distract from what we've been through, but if keeping busy is his way of coping then I cant take that away from him.

Even after a year, the town is still not finished. It took a long time for people to want to go near the smouldering ruin that used to be our home, but when they did, there was a lot in the way of shifting rubble and ash to do. Thick layers of ash still coat the whole District, no matter how hard everyone tries. Its as if its staying put purposely, as a reminder to us that the Capitol will have always won the real battle, will have always claimed the most lives.

I pad down the carpeted stairs, pulling on a loose jumper of Peeta. I never ask him for them and he never minds when I take them, which I'm glad of, because they're warm and cozy and smell like him.

I enter the kitchen, where Peeta is buttering a fresh slice of bread for himself. I notice one with jam on it sitting on the counter top for me. I look up at him as I sit at one of the high stools and he gives me such a warm smile that I almost don't need the jumper.

The kettle boils and he pours two cups of tea, carefully adding sugar and milk to mine. I can predict his cup before its even poured; teaspoon of milk with no sugar.

He sets my cup down beside me and pulls a stool over to sit opposite me. I thank him again and he nods, taking a hungry bite from his bread. It's a quiet morning, all I can hear is the hum of our refrigerator and some birds outside, chirping happily.

The silence is comfortable as we finish breakfast. Following our routine, I take our plates and mugs, washing them out in the sink, drying them and placing them back in the overhead press.

"So, whats the plan for today?" I ask as I turn back around, looking at him to find that he was already staring.

He hesitates, considering for a moment. I notice the small crease between his eyebrows that forms when he's thinking, the slight frown that rests on his mouth.

"Well..we could go to the lake? You can swim, I might paint. I picked up new watercolours yesterday." He raises his eyebrows in question at me.

"Sure..I've been thinking. Maybe I should- we should, go to Prim's.." the words catch in my mouth but Peeta understands them. I expect the suggestion to throw him, since I haven't been in two years, but he nods.

"Of course. Why don't we pick up some of the flowers outside before we go to bring?" He offers, his expression genuine. I smile, but there's a sadness to it.

"That sounds perfect."