*Flynn's POV*
I walk through the door, noticing the windows being open and the light shining into the house. I close the door before walking in further to see Katniss smiling, and Peeta watching her like she's sunlight. The sight is heartwarming—for the fact that I haven't seen her smile in almost a year—but also unsettling. I can't explain the feeling exactly; I'm not even sure there's an expression that could explain it.
"Hey, Flynn." Katniss says to me, and I notice her long dark braid falling over her shoulder.
I try to refrain from showing my feeling of concern, just to preserve her sudden contentment. I know she has a facade up, because Katniss hasn't braided her hair in years.
"Hey, Katniss." I reply, smiling back at her. I wait until she walks out of the room to turn to Peeta questioning her sudden change in personality.
He gives me a look before sighing, and I can't read his conflicting expressions.
"She received medicine from her doctor." He starts, and I lean against the counter facing him. "She seems different, right?"
"Very different." I agree, picturing the way she acted when I walked in. "Is it a bad thing, though?"
"I don't know what's worse," he starts. "Her being on high doses of medication, but being happy, or her being herself and being depressed."
"Has the doctor said anything about bringing the dosage down?" I ask, but he shakes his head before looking towards the door that leads to the living room. He sighs, and I try to get him to remain positive.
"She still has the same mind, it's still her." I say quietly, and he nods. "Why don't you talk to her about it? You could find out how she feels and choose together how you want to move forward."
"You're right." He says, standing from the counter. "I'm going to do that."
"Let me know how it goes," I remark. "I care about her too."
"I know you do." He smiles before walking towards the doorway in the corner, and beginning to talk to who I assume is Katniss.
I know she's different, but maybe it's a good thing. I've hated seeing her be in so much pain for years, it hurts me just as it hurts her. I remember this one time where she was sitting on the ground, and I was sitting with her, us both crying, and she asked me if I think life will ever get better. I had told her yes, me being naive, and I remember her talking about how it may never get better for her.
I remember that conversation everyday, it mostly haunting me. I see Katniss in Willow, and I've seen Katniss at her worst's, which is why I'm so terrified of what could happen to Willow. Even Katniss herself has told me she's scared that Willow will turn out like her.
But now, with this new medication, I'm hoping it'll benefit the both of them—Katniss being happy and it rubbing off on Willow.
I begin to climb the stairs, the squeaks of the steps shaking me from my thoughts. I get to the top before noticing that Willow's door is closed, and her lights are off. I come to the door, and I knock twice—our shared code. I get no response, so I knock twice again before walking into the room. I open the door to see her asleep on her bed, although she's facing opposite of her headboard.
I close the door behind me, and I walk towards her, bending down to her level. I tuck her hair that's spread across her face behind her ear, and I smile at the sight of her so peaceful. I stare at her freckles for a moment before beginning to rub her shoulder until she awakens. She opens her eyes and sees me, and a smile appears across her face.
"Well someone's happy to see me." I joke, standing up slowly.
"Don't start already." She groans, covering her face in her arms. I laugh at the sight of her so disheveled, before walking towards her windows and opening the curtains.
"Why are you still sleeping?" I ask, opening her windows to let the fresh air in.
"You don't want to know." She starts, finally sitting up.
She combs her hair with her fingers after seeing her reflection in the mirror across from her, and I fight the urge to smile at the sight.
"What don't I want to know?" I ask, assuming she was up late reading, or reorganizing her bookshelf.
She gives me a look, and the smile that's when my face turns to a frown. I walk towards her and I flip her wrists, checking them but seeing no new additions. I look at her, confused, but she takes her arms away from my grasp and folds them across her chest.
"I didn't, I promise." She starts, and my heart starts to feel a little lighter as she continues. "I was up all night not doing it."
"You should've called me." I say, reaching to mess up her blonde wavy hair. She glares at me as I do, and begins to re-comb her hair. "I would've been awake."
There's a silence between us, and I can see that she's thinking about saying something. I try to make myself look busy, so she doesn't feel pressured, but in reality, I really do what to know what's on her mind.
"I want them back." She breaks the silence, and I immediately shake my head.
Definitely not what I expected.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I ask, and she stands up from her bed. She scoffs, but I clearly have the upper hand—she's not very threatening when she has to look up at me. "You're almost 2 weeks clean."
"I've earned them back." She states, and I roll my eyes. "This isn't fair, Flynn."
"You think this is unfair?" I ask, actually laughing at her. "It's unfair that I care about you so much, and you just want to throw everything away. It's unfair that no matter how hard I try, I can't get you to be happy. It's unfair that you sit here and cut yourself because you're too stubborn and foolish to call me. That's unfair, Willow."
She stands there looking at me, and I see water fill her lower eyelids. My face softens, and I regret everything I've said. I try to reach for her but she backs away from my reach, and it breaks my heart to realize how incredibly dumb I am.
"Willow, I'm sorry," I start, but she shakes her head.
A tear falls down her face, and I watch as she quickly wipes it before looking at me.
"You should leave." She says, and I fight the urge to say no. I hesitate before speaking again, not wanting to add to anything I've already done.
"I didn't mean any of it, I—" I stumble over my words, and she stares straight through me.
"Please go." She says finally, and I hesitate before walking towards the door.
I don't look back as I walk through her bedroom door, and I don't look back when I hear Peeta call my name through the corridor. I walk back to my house in silence, sulking in the regret of every single word I said.
How can I not have sympathy for her? I'm an idiot—I'm so ignorant and so incredibly stupid. Calling her foolish? I'm clearly the only one that's foolish—why didn't I think this through?
What was I thinking?
What was I thinking?
_
There's a quiet knock on my door, but I'm not surprised by the sound. I haven't left my room in hours, so I knew my mother would make an appearance one time or another. I roll over to face the door and I see her red hair peek through before I motion for her to come in.
"Do you think you could do me a favor?" She asks quietly, and I plaster a fake smile before sitting upright and looking at her.
"I'm not doing anything else." I remark, still thinking about what I said to her.
"Could you run to town and get a couple bouquets?" She asks, her eyes glistening in the sunlight. "Johanna and her wife are coming to the house tomorrow and I—" I cut her off from rambling just to save us both some time.
"Will do." I mumble, standing from my bed and beginning to walk towards her. "Do you have a list of what you need?"
"Yes," she says whilst reaching into her pocket to pull out the list.
My eyes land on a crumpled piece of paper, and I fight the urge to laugh. I gently grab it from her before beginning to walk down the stairs, her following behind me.
"Thank you, Flynn." She says quietly, and I accept her gratitude.
She begins to hug me, and I hug her back tentatively before pulling away and beginning to leave. I close the door behind myself, also trying to close the door on the awkwardness between me and my mother. It hasn't been the same since my surgeries, and I'm not sure it ever will.
She didn't even acknowledge how much pain I was in those first weeks after getting home, and I can't remember the last time she's asked how I'm doing. Then again, I have to give her credit for moving forward without my dad. I guess I am lucky that she can at least function enough to care for me.
I begin my walk towards town, and the soft drizzle of the rain above me isn't helping my mind. The rain reminds me of her, and I hate it. I hate being reminded of her, because now all I can think about when I think about her is how much of a jerk I am. All I can think about is how badly I messed up; how badly I ruined the only good thing I had left.
I eventually reach the shop, which shakes me from my restless thoughts. I wander from stand to stand until I come across the flower stand, and I pull the list out of my pocket.
"Tulips, Roses, Dahlias," I mumble under my breathe.
I put the list back into my pocket, and I smile as the stand owner helps me grab all of the bouquets necessary. The lady helping me is very nice, but it's hard to hold a conversation while I'm staring at her blonde hair—which is oddly similar to Willow's. My heart shatters at the sight of it moving in the wind, and I'd be a goner if her face was even remotely similar to Willow's.
I try to make the exchange as quick as possible, but my eyes get caught on 2 small bouquets—one with green flowers and one with orange.
"What kinds of flowers are those?" I gesture towards them, due to the 3 bouquets in my hands already.
"The green is a hydrangea, and the orange one is a marigold." She states simply.
I smile before handing her money for the flowers in my hand and the 2 that I noticed, leaving with quite full hands.
I try not to think about the rain overhead—pushing away any memories of the kiss, and any other memories I have with her and rain. I can't think about her knowing she's so angry with me; it hurts.
Just as I'm about to reach the victor's gate, I get bombarded by cameras and reporters. I'm stuck in the crowd of them, and I can't see a way out.
"How's your mother, Flynn?" A man asks, and I give up on my escape plan.
"She's doing very well lately." I respond, and he deems my answer as sufficient.
A lady gets my attention—by shoving a damn camera in my face—and I fake a smile while I look at her. The crowd's loud commotion makes it difficult to hear her, but I try my best to listen.
"How is Willow Mellark?" She asks, and I try not to let my emotions show through. "We haven't seen her in a while."
"Beautiful as always." I remark, picturing her in my mind. "I haven't talked to her in a while though, so I'm not positive on how she's doing."
"Why is that?" She asks, and I can tell by the look on her face that she's craving some sort of drama—or at least something to sell in the headlines for the next few days.
"I didn't treat her as I should've." I remark with a sad smile. "I took her for granted."
The lady raises an eyebrow at the camera man, probably expecting me to elaborate, but I decline any further questions—I'm too afraid I'll break down if I talk about her anymore.
I'm so stupid.
_
*Peeta's POV*
I watched him walk out the door quickly, and anyone could've known that something was clearly wrong. I debated calling Willow down here to explain, but I heard her crying in her bedroom and decided it was best to just stay out of it—plus, I was already dealing with Katniss.
She doesn't know what to do, and neither do I. Part of me wants her to stay on the medicine. She's been sleeping through the nights, and she wakes up happy. All I've ever wanted for her is to be happy, it's all I've ever prayed for. But I don't know if it's worth it, her being happy but being so medicated.
I just don't know.
I'm shaken from my thoughts by the sound of Rye and Willow fighting. I walk out of the kitchen to hear them in the art room, and I walk down the hallway to see what the commotion is about. I walk in to see Willow standing by an art stand, and Rye standing in front of her with his arms crossed.
"What's going on?" I ask, unamused by the arguing.
"She destroyed my painting." He states with a voice of anger, reaching to turn the stand towards me.
I look at the painting, and I see red streaks across the entire canvas. The background is a painting of Katniss, and I smile at the sight before remembering the paint splattered on it.
"Why would you do that, Willow?" I ask, and she looks at me. "He worked hard on that painting."
"I—" I watch as she stumbles over her words, and a tear ricochets down her face.
"Come on." I say, motioning to leave the room. She looks at Rye before following me, and I stop in the corridor.
She looks up at me and I feel guilty for being upset with her, but I know how hard he worked on that painting. I spent hours helping him perfect his technique, and he spent twice the amount I did just gazing at it to see what he could add. It's not fair for him, but neither is me screaming at her.
"What's going on with you?" I ask. "You're not yourself."
"I don't want to talk about it." She says quietly, but I shake my head.
"You are going to talk about it." I remark, watching my tone. "Flynn practically ran out of here, you were crying the entire morning, and now you've destroyed your brother's painting?"
"I'm sorry." She says, avoiding eye contact.
"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to." I motion towards the art room. "Why would you destroy that?" I ask, but my attention's redirected towards the living room.
"Peeta?" I hear Katniss call, and I turn back towards Willow.
"Go apologize and then ask him how you can make it up to him." I state, looking down at her. She nods her head and then begins to make her way back to the art room. "We're not done talking, sunshine. Come see me when you've resolved this with Rye."
She nods her head in recognition before disappearing into the art room. I sigh before making my way towards the living room, finding Katniss on the couch. She has a tear running down her face, and this alarm me immediately.
"What's wrong, darling?" I ask, sitting down beside her and wiping her tear. I can see more flooding her eyes, and it breaks my heart to see.
"I want off these—I'm not me." She starts, and my face softens.
"You're not going to feel the same, Katniss." I say quietly. "These medications are supposed to make you feel completely different, it would be bad if you felt the same on them."
"I want to be off them, I've decided." She says, and her tears overflow, beginning to run down her face. "It's exhausting, I can't do it—I can't." She falls into my chest, and I comfort her the best I can.
Deep down, I knew this would happen. I knew she wouldn't be able to handle the sudden change of nature—suddenly being so happy and joyful when she was used to being constantly sad. I just wish it would've worked.
_
I cover her with a blanket, watching her sleep on one of the end's of the couch. She cried herself to exhaustion, and she had tears still running down her cheeks as she was asleep. I make sure she's not going to fall off the side of the couch before realizing that Willow is standing in the corner of the room.
"Are you doing better?" I ask quietly, turning towards her.
"Yes," she starts, but is interrupted by the sound of the television screen turning on and beginning to play one of the newest interviews.
I give it no attention, but I peer at it after seeing Willow's reaction. I look at the screen and I'm not shocked to see Flynn standing there.
I hear one of the reporters ask how Willow is, and I watch as he smiles at the mention of her name. I turn around to fix a book that's sitting on the edge of one of the tables, and I notice Willow watching the screen intensely. She watches the rest of the interview before turning towards me again.
"Dad—" she says but is cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing.
She laughs at the interruption before turning towards the corridor and beginning to walk towards the door. She opens the door and I watch as she picks up 2 bouquets from the porch.
"Flynn?" I ask, gesturing towards them.
She nods her head while reading the note attached to the card, and I see a smile appear on her face.
"This one's for mom." She remarks, handing me the green bouquet before climbing the stairs.
I look down at the bouquet in my hand before smiling at the thoughtful gesture.
I'll give it to her when she wakes up. If she wakes up now, I'm afraid she'll cry again, or worse, not sleep until the rest of the medication is out of her system. If I had the chance, I'd give anything to make her feel better. Anything at all would be a small price to pay for her to be happy. Not artificially happy, I mean happy.