Fire Burns Brighter in Darkness|| Peeta melark x reader

2

Words: 1.6k
A/n: while the reader is supposed to portray someone that knows a lot about the preparing, cutting, cooking ect of meat, I don't even eat it. So some stuff throughout this story wilk definitely be inaccurate oops.
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Shock. Shock shakes me as I hear the name I did not think would be pulled. My own. I don't know how much time passes as I stay there, unmoving.

It feels similar to when I first started chopping meat. I was practicing with some leftovers that we'd be eating anyways and my hand slipped. Slice. The head of a finger came straight off.
Luckily, it didn't roll away and my mom bandaged it back to where it came from.

But fears are meant to be conquered. And I go back to practicing with the knife real quick.
This will be just like that. An obstacle to cross, a fear to overcome, a nightmare to wake up from. I tell myself.

I stiffly start to move. I have to instruct myself.
left foot, right. Breathe now, (y/n).
I can hear Effie repeating my name, telling me to come up. But it sounds weird, like when you're having a bath and try to speak with your head submerged in water.

I'm suddenly aware of how hot I feel in the dress, the sleeves only go to my elbows but I'm dripping with sweat. As I get closer, I see cameras training on me. This is the first impression that the capitol will get of me. How I portray myself now, may play part in my sponsors later.

I'm already thinking about what will benefit me in the arena. This is happening. I am going to be in the Hunger Games and I don't even know who I am. Or who they want me to be.

I keep my eyes trained ahead of me and walk slowly as I unclench my fists. Unbothered. I am going to be unbothered, stone cool and uncaring. Someone that will not run from bloodshed. That's how they need to see me.

"Strong one here!" Effie jokes as I stand on stage and listen to the customary clap people must give. I see some that don't. Childhood friends, some other merchants. They liked me, I was always respectful and kind- how can anyone bring themselves to clap at the demise of someone they watched grow up?

Haymitch  sways over to me limply. "Look at her. Look at this one! I like her" he hollers. The closer he gets, the more his stench wafts over me. He smells of liqour and something rotten. He smells of a sad life. Many victors ended up dealing with their trauma through alcohol or even morphling but seeing it in real life... it errups a wave of fear within me.
Is this what I will be if I survive?

"Lots of..." he puts an arm around me, waving at the sky as he tries to find the word "different... different vibes!" He sounds like he just won life. Haymitch points to Effie "More than you! You're borning as ever" Then to the camera directly in front of us "and more than you!".

I try not to laugh, realising that he is taunting both the audience and the Capitol. No one can do anything about that either, it's not like they can have him punished or killed, the capitol loves the victors, even the screw ups like Haymitch. Bloodshed is all cool and fun until the one they're attatched to is hurt in any way. That may actually cause an uprising.

He's about to continue when he suddenly plunges off stage and knocks himself unconscious. We will definetly be the laughing stock of all of Panem. Though, it is rather funny.
Just for a moment, I'm dragged out of my emotionally numbed state as all the cameras train on him. I already know that reality will hit hard once I find some time alone.

Haymitch is carried off on a stretcher While Effie tries to redeem the show. "Such an exciting day!" She laughs awkwardly while trying to shift her wig into an appropriate position. I hope the cameras are focused on her now, because it looks like her hair is sliding off her scalp like it's a slope of ice. And it's hilarious.

"But more excitment is to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" She keeps one hand on her very out of place hairline, crosses to the boys' ball and snatches up the first slip she comes into contact with. I cross all my fingers and toes in hopes that it is not someone I know. Well, not someone that I know well enough to care.

She power walks back to the podium in a way similar to the way some of the merchants' wives exercise on Saturday mornings and reads the name. "Peeta Mellark!"

Peeta Melark.

The baker's son. The kindest soul I'd ever met. The first friend I'd made as a child. The boy I tried to convince myself day and night that I was not in love with. A school girl crush, I call it.

Then, it registers. He will be a tribute with me. I will watch Peeta Mellark get brutally murdered and there is nothing I can do about it.  It hurts. I feel the urge to cry and panic and shake with fear errupting in me.

That's not right I think not him. He doesn't deserve that. He's sweet and honest and talented. He spends his days decorating cakes and probably makes flower crowns when he has nothing better to do. He's never missed a piece of homework in his life. Everyone adores him, myself included.

I think my mouth falls agape as I watch him slowly walk to the podium in fear. He's not very tall compared to most merchants but next to someone from the seam, he'd look pretty well grown. He has wide shoulders, I'd started calling him a box at some point, maybe a year or two ago as he got stockier from hauling around giant bags of flour and bread trays. I can't bring myself to look him in the eyes so I opt for staring at his blond curls as they swey in the wind gently.

One of his older brothers is still young enough to take his place. He could volunteer, why won't he? Would he rather trudge through the rest of his miserable life, knowing that he could have saved someone he loved? Then again, family devotion only goes so far on reaping day.

I stare at the floor while the mayor reads the Treaty of Treason. I try to zone out, wait until everything was over. But the knowledge that not only me but also someone I hold dear is being sent to certain doom makes time pass even more slowly than a friday afternoon in school.

The odds weren't in our favour. I think. But at least we'll have each other there. I care. I care so much, how could I not?

I first befriended the baker's sons just before I'd began school, maybe a few months before but definitely not a whole year. All of them, we'd play tag and draw on the pavement with chalk. Peeta was always the best at that.

But, we grew up. Slowly, Peeta's older brothers wanted to do other things with other people that are their age. It's alright, we had fun together and when Delly befriended us everything got even better. Sure, we drifted as we grew and made new friends as we got older. But he always had time for me.

Maybe, it was out of politeness. Maybe I made him uncomfortable and he was just too kind to admit it. But he'd still drop in and ask if I was free to spend some time with him every now and again. He still sat with me at lunch when my friends were busy, even if the other boys teased him for it.

There was actually a time that rumours were spread around school that we're arranged for marriage as a way to benefit our parents. Or that we're forbidden lovers that plan to run away from a disapproving world. But I didn't care, I'm not sure if he did. All I could think about was how much I did not deserve him, even as a friend. He was -is- the kindest, purest man I've ever met.

It's funny, actually, all the rumours going around about us. When from quite an early age it was unbelievably obvious that Peeta was in love with a girl from the seam. A poor, malnourished girl that provided for her family from the age of twelve. A cold loner that sang so beautifully, even the birds stopped to listen and take notes.

I am snapped out of my thoughts when Peeta takes my hand. Mayor Undersee must have finished and I wasn't even paying attention. He's always been warm, personally and physically but this time, something about his firm grip and reassuring squeeze calms me down.

It gives me the courage to look up at his face and see his soft smile. But his pupils are so small that they're like pieces of coal in a vast ocean. He's scared and panicing and could lose his resolve at any moment. But his first priority is to make sure I'm ok. Stop prioritizing others you big soft idiot. It feels like I could start crying at any second.

He keeps a hold of my hand, tighter than before as we turn back to the crowd and the anthem of Panem plays.

If we make it long enough, I swear to protect him with everything I have.