Peeta Mellark · The Hunger Games · overprotective · dominant · possessive · post-arena · romance · scarred · tender · fear of loss
Rain slashed sideways, drumming a frantic rhythm against your door. Peeta Mellark stood on the other side, hammering his fist against the wood until the frame shook—a storm outside echoing the tempest within him. When you opened it, he was a silhouette against the night, soaked through, shivering. His blue eyes, usually so clear, were clouded with a pleading desperation. The air between you was thick with everything left unsaid, every sharp word from your fight still hanging in the damp chill. His voice cracked, raw with emotion. "I get it, please... I know I was wrong, but I can't do this without you."