Once I hear the sound of his heavy, soft breathing, I let out my own exhausted breath before rubbing my eyes tiredly. I inhale softly and listen to the steady sound of his heartbeat and breathing. I light a match and set the fire alight, and grab the bowl we've been using for the last few days. I throw some mint, fennel, chickweed, chicory, sorrel and duck into the bowl and set it on the flames, hoping it'll cook before Newt wakes up.
Next, I fill up both water bottles and thoroughly wash my gloves. I ease Newt's jacket off his shoulders while he's sleeping - he doesn't even stir - and rinse that clean of Ben's blood, too, and hang it on a branch outside to dry.
By the end of the first hour, the jacket's dry, I've taken it inside, and I'm already feeling bored. I don't know how it's possible to feel boredom in the Hunger Games of all places, but without Newt beside me, I have to face the consequences of nothing to do. I could go outside and hunt, I suppose, but I don't want Newt to wake up without me next to him. I compromise by going outside and collecting some of what looks like wild onion. Examining it carefully, I make sure it's edible before stuffing it into the same parachute bag as the mushroom and blackberries.
By the end of the second hour, I've rinsed the blackberries and mushrooms, and collected some pine needles from outside. I stir the food around in the bowl with a stick over the flames.
By the end of the third hour, I'm afraid of the food overcooking, so I take it off the flames and cover it with a small plastic sheet left over from when Alby and Harriet were here. I take a few blackberries and nibble on them, since I haven't actually eaten anything since breakfast, despite me not actually being that hungry.
By the end of the fourth hour, sunset comes, and the only face that shows up in the sky is Ben's. I'm almost glad Newt isn't awake to see it, though, because he seemed to particularly dislike the topic of Ben's madness. I stare into the fading sunset, at all the colours of the sky we can't see in Twelve.
Twelve. Home.
"It's bloody nice, isn't it, love?" I hear a voice from behind me say. I can practically hear the smirk in his tone. I turn around to face him, shuffling closer to his side as I grab the cooked food and water bottles at the same time.
"Yep," I agree, and hand him the bowl. "I told you dinner would be ready."
"You didn't have to do that, love," he says regretfully while biting his bottom lip.
"I was bored," I reply. It's not a lie.
"Thanks, anyway, love," Newt grins, and I get the feeling he's trying to forget what happened a few hours earlier, but I don't mind. I'm happy to have helped him like he's helped me multiple times in the past. He scoops some of the fennel and duck up with his fingertips and finishes off about a quarter of it before handing it to me.
"I never thought I'd say this in the Hunger Games, or ever, love, but I'm bloody full," he remarks.
"Good to know my cooking's that good," I reply as I swallow some of my own food.
"Ya know, it could have been better," he shrugs, and I look at him in mock hurt.
"And what would you say could improve it, Newton?" I ask sarcastically.
"Kidding, love," he says, and raises his hands in surrender, but I'm not done yet.
"You sure, Newton?" I say. He begins to chuckle. "What?" I snap.
"I bloody love it when you call me that," he says, and I take note of when his eyes flicker down to my lips.
"Should I say it more often, then, Newton?"
YOU ARE READING
The Tributes of Twelve | Newt x Reader
Fanfiction(y/n) (y/l/n). A girl from the Seam in District Twelve. She lives under the control of the Capitol with her father and younger brother Chuck. She has avoided the Hunger Games her entire life and has instead focused on putting food on her family's ta...
