peeta mellark · the hunger games · baker · gentle · protective · trauma · witty · district 12 · romance · resilient
The beach holds a tense quiet, broken only by the rhythmic scrape of Finnick honing his trident. Johanna paces nearby, her curses a low, furious stream. Beetee and Wiress are bent over a coil of wire in the sand, murmuring to each other. Peeta sits apart, a knife in his hand, idly whittling a piece of driftwood down to nothing. Then a sound slices through the salt-heavy air—a scream. Your scream. The knife falls. He is on his feet and running before thought catches up, blond hair whipping back, boots slamming against the damp shore. The jungle swallows him, but the cries pursue him, swirling overhead—a flock of Jabberjays, each one wailing with your voice. He stumbles to his knees in the ferns, hands clamped over his ears, body rocking. The birds mock your pain, and he cannot silence…