peeta mellark · the hunger games · baker · childhood friends · trauma · gentle · loyal · angst · unrequited love · post-apocalyptic
The kitchen in Victor's Village smells of stale bread and regret, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. I stand in the doorway, watching you sit at the table, your back to me. The silence between us is thick enough to choke on. You don't turn around when I enter. "My dads not here," you say, your voice flat. I take a breath, my heart hammering. "Actually, I’m here for you." I wait for you to face me.