Always | EVERLARK Hunger Games | 2023

3 - Spring Always Wins.

The side of my right arm felt bruised from the force I used to get the door open—I didn't mean to take the entire thing to the ground and crack it into firewood, but it happened that way. Katniss was most likely sleeping—or maybe not, depending on how loud the crash really was. I felt like a home intruder. I wasn't supposed to be here, yet I had to be.

I stood from the wreckage, slowly but surely so I wouldn't hurt myself further. Her house looked as vacant on the inside as it had on the outside—there was no way a person had lived here for months now with the lack of furniture and light. Even the fireplace looked unburnt. In the midst of letting my eyes wander, a metallic clang caught my attention from just off to the right. I turned my head to see what else I had somehow damaged, but what met my eyes was much more beautiful.

It was her.

Her hair was half-dry, only dripping from random strands. The knife she dropped to the floor was only inches away from her right foot. Her eyes? Bloodshot. Her skin? Red and puffy. She was as pretty as ever. But she was hurting.

"Peeta?" Her expression softened and the corners of her mouth quivered.

"Oh, Katniss." It was all I could get out of my mouth. "Where have you been?"

She never answered and I didn't blame her. It was an unanswerable question. It only took a moment before we collided into an embrace, muffling our sniffles into each other's shoulders. I petted her tangled hair, holding her head close to mine. "Oh, Katniss."

It felt like a lifetime before we let go. I held her face in my hands, discreetly wiping the food away from the corner of her mouth. Her already-puffy eyes were crying again. Her tears looked hot like they could burn your eyes if you weren't careful.

"Peeta..." she said again. It was all she could manage.

"Let's get you out of here, okay?" I brushed my thumbs against her cheeks, clearing the stray hairs away from her skin. She nodded, as if she had a choice. "We can come back for your things tomorrow."

I took off my jacket, leaving myself in only a flour-covered button-up and dark colored slacks. It was freezing in her house, but it was nothing compared to the chill of outside. It was spring, but it was not yet warm. It was the war between cold and warm, and cold was winning with the effort of its greatest strengths. Soon, warm would win. It always does, eventually. Just not now.

I put the jacket over her bony shoulders. She was so much more thin and fragile than the last time we saw each other. It lit a fire deep inside of me to see her this way, knowing that she went through all she had for the sake of everyone but herself. I hugged her head to my chest once more before we started out the door to my home—a warmer, comfier version of her own. The wind slapped us both in the face on our way out. We started through the wind and rain, I shielded her face the best I could. Her feet were half-in her boots that she never bothered to unlace before shoving her foot in for the journey across the way. She looked blue and red in the face until we got inside my house—with the subtle orange light shining on her face upon entry, she looked more human.

As I closed us inside, she immediately kicked off her shoes but swaddled herself deeper into the jacket I placed on her shoulders. I got to work on starting a fire in the fireplace. She stood in silence, watching the floor. She looked ashamed—ashamed of herself or of what had become of her. I didn't understand her shame—I wanted to take care of her. She wanted to take care of herself. It was like fire and ice, but the fire always wins in the same way that spring eventually comes, regardless of the winter's fight.

The fire started in a puff of smoke, setting the dry wooden logs ablaze within the fireplace.

"Katniss, I'm going to get you a change of clothes. You need to warm up by the fire."

There was a time where she would normally revolt and claim she was fine without the extra warmth, but that time had passed. She simply nodded and met me down by the fireplace. The Girl On Fire looked beaten, like she had lost a war. I pulled her close to me and gave her a kiss on the temple before I started off towards my own bedroom to find her a new outfit.

I rummaged through my drawers, first changing myself into a heavy and warm sweater and grey cotton pants. I found a flannel nightshirt for Katniss along with cotton pants to match my own. I hurried back down to her, who was still stationed in front of the fireplace wrapped up in my jacket with half-dry and half-frozen hair.

"Hey, here's the best I could do." I set the clothes down on the couch nearest to her, awaking a sleeping Buttercup, who wandered over to my home not too long ago. Katniss had her hand over the cat's soft fur and gentle tears formed in the corner of her eyes. I could tell that she felt guilty, probably hadn't known where the cat went and didn't search too hard. In a way, though, the expression on her face was of ease—she finally had peace. Warm and no longer alone. She didn't have to feel the shame of her emotions anymore. Buttercup, safe.

I relocated Buttercup off the coach and onto my lap as I took a seat next to her change of clothes. The cat immediately stretched out in my lap and began to purr. Katniss took her change of clothes to the bathroom upstairs, not before muttering a quiet "thank you."

When she returned, minutes later, she looked more alive. Her hair wasn't drippy and half frozen anymore, instead it was combed out with her fingers and washed in the sink. She collected it messily into a low bun that kept the stray hairs out of her face and the water contained enough to keep from dripping onto her new, dry clothes. The flannel was slightly loose on her, just sliding off her shoulder. The grey cotton pants were held up by the drawstring around her waist, knotted in a way that you could only learn in a survival training. It was apparent that Katniss was scrubbing her tear-stained cheeks with water—they were red and irritated but tearless. "Thank you," she said under her breath, almost like a whisper. "you didn't have to do all of this for me, Peeta."

Same old Katniss, never able to understand that no one is being forced to help her—that someone can use their own willpower and choose to show her kindness just because they have it in their heart.

"I would do it for you." I replied, patting the cushion next to me. "Let's talk."

Thoughts so far?? 💭