Living Lies ✜ Hunger Games x Reader

Better To Be Living

"Is that really you, Peeta?" you take a step back, "where are you?"

"Don't step on me, just look down."

You whip around, feet in water a good foot away from where you stood at first. A quick glance down and you spot a well—very well disguised and smiling Peeta. "Whoa," a gasp escapes you mouth. "Impressive."

You bend down beside him, a step forward, recovering from shock. "Haymitch must have rubbed off on you, calling me sweetheart," you fight the urge to slap him on the arm. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry about that."

You dismiss the sarcastic reply with a flick of your hand. "Can you close your eyes again?"

Peeta does so, once again appearing invisible. You narrow your eyes. Even though you watched him close his eyes, it's hard to separate man from earth. A chuckle escapes your lips involuntarily. "I guess working in the bakery paid off after all, huh?"

Peeta chuckles dryly. "Yeah. Camouflage frosting—the final defense of dying."

You roll your eyes at his overdramatic attitude. "You're not going to die—not on my watch," you assure him firmly. You don't have any plans on letting anyone else die who you consider your responsibility.

"Yeah, that's comforting."

"Hey, you of little faith, we're on the same team now, remember?" you object.

Peeta sighs. "So I heard. It's nice of you to find what's left of me."

"Did you get caught Cato?" you ask, worry rising. What if the wound really is as bad as he claims it is? You push the thought from your mind. "How deep, what from, and where is it?"

"It's the left leg," Peeta informs, pointing to his leg. "Spear wound. High up."

Now it's your turn to sigh. "Well, let's get this camouflage and blood washed off you," you pause, brushing off your knees mindlessly, "see what I'm dealing with here, get you fixed up."

As you bend to pick up your bag lying on the ground, you feel a tug on your arm. You look over to see Peeta holding onto your left arm with a vise like grip, as if he has a personal goal to rip it off.

"Something's up with you, (Y/n), I can tell." He searches your face carefully. "What happened?" he asks quietly.

You find it startling he can tell so easily when something is bothering you. But he'd never guess it was because of Rue. You'd prefer to keep it that way, at least for now. You have bigger issues on your plate right now.

Brushing off his question, you shrug. "I'm fine," you reply quietly, not wanting to make a big scene for the gamemakers to put on television. "It's just that—we're so close to the end, and now we can both get out alive. It's a lot of pressure to have come this far. I don't know whether I should be terrified or happy."

"I think both would probably be good," Peeta smiles, wincing slightly at the end.

"Alright," you exhale a chuckle lightly, "let's get you fixed up."

***

It took a lot longer that you would have liked to get Peeta fully fixed up and ready to go. At first, it seemed hopeless. Any attempt to move him into the stream to wash off the blood and dirt only ended with him crying out in pain. There was no sense drawing attention or wasting your time that way. He insisted you try a different method.

You eventually resorted to scooping the water out of the river and pouring it on him that way. It was painfully slow going at first—and still was painful for him until the end—but you finally managed to find a rhythm that aided in the speed of your endeavor. Not that Peeta didn't complain at first—he definitely did, to which you shushed him with the thought of trying to roll him back in the stream, threatening to do it less gingerly than before if he kept complaining.