Fluid Heart, Firey Soul (Peeta Mellark x Reader)

Chapter 13 - Interviews

Finnick seamlessly transitions into the role of the interviewer, directing a series of questions at Fletcher that delve into our District, his motivations, and the personal story behind his decision to volunteer. Fletcher handles the questions with remarkable poise, incorporating Victoria's instructed hand gestures and maintaining a well-practiced smile. The four hours of preparation seem justified, and I find myself inclined to sponsor him based on his performance alone.

His responses exude confidence, skillfully adopting the fierce fighter persona that Finnick suggested. His choice of words conveys fearlessness, emphasizing his commitment to winning for Eddy and our District. The Fletcher I witness now reminds me of the Fletcher I first encountered during the reaping, maintaining a tough exterior that conceals layers of complexity underneath.

Finnick extends his congratulations to Fletcher for a commendable performance, signaling that he can now take a break while it's my turn for an interview. He shifts his attention to me, firing questions similar to those he posed to Fletcher.

"Why do you want to win the games?" Finnick inquires.

My mind races to formulate an answer. Why do I want to win? I don't want to face death in the arena, but I also grapple with the idea of taking someone else's life for the sake of victory. The desire to reunite with my father, Wren, and Bea provides a glimmer of motivation, but the overwhelming unfairness of the Hunger Games eats at me. Why am I forced to entertain people I couldn't care less about? Parading myself around like I'm proud to be here?

"This is stupid!" I burst out. "They plucked me from my home; I shouldn't be subjected to this nonsense." I know it's not Finnick's fault. He's been through the same thing I have, but I can't help but feel furious being here. I don't want to have to pretend all the time. Like Peeta told me on the roof, I don't want them to change me into something I'm not.

Simultaneously, I recognize the necessity of delivering the performance they crave, understanding that it's an act to secure even a slim chance at survival. With a resigned sigh, I offer Finnick an apology for my earlier outburst, regaining my composure to continue through the questions; I navigate them with a calculated mix of humor and sincerity, integrating gestures and smiles, earning an approving nod from Finnick.

By the end of the session, Finnick urges us to view this charade as similar to games of make-believe we played when we were younger. Fletcher and I have both mastered our personas— the Capitol version of ourselves and plan to showcase them tomorrow during our interviews.

I choose to go to my room for dinner, feeling more exhausted now than I did physically training. I order an assortment of cakes and pastries to my room, each bite offering a brief escape from my reality. Yet as the sweetness dissolves on my tongue, the idea of entering the arena in just a few days slips into my mind. This time, the fear feels more palpable, more daunting; I hope my death is at least quick.

A persistent knock interrupts my thoughts. Initially, I dismiss it, but the insistent rhythm persists. Victoria's voice penetrates the room, mentioning a young boy named Peter. His soft correction of her mistake adds a touch of humor to the otherwise somber atmosphere.

Sighing, I crawl out of bed, brushing away the crumbs that have accumulated. I swing the door open, my eyes meeting Peeta's who is accompanied by my escort. His discomfort is noticeable, accentuated by Victoria's protective stance, her hands resting on his shoulders as though she fears he might unexpectedly lunge at me.

"You can come in," I tell him, dismissing him from Victoria's grasp. He walks inside and I kindly dismiss Victoria before closing the door.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, shifting upright in my bed. Though I'd much rather be lying down, it feels somehow impolite in the company of a visitor. Peeta settles at the edge of the bed, extending a delicate flower that had previously eluded my notice. "I thought you could use a friend," he offers a warm smile.