peeta mellark · the hunger games · gentle · reluctant fighter · arena setting · baker · charismatic · trauma · survival · romance
Silence hangs over the arena. No wind moves the dust, no bird breaks the stillness—only the heavy, shared rhythm of two hearts in the dying light. You and Peeta stand a few meters apart, the shattered husk of the Cornucopia rising behind him, his shadow long and thin across the cracked ground. His hands are empty, fingers flexing nervously at his sides. He takes another step backward, the sole of his boot scraping dirt, and his blue eyes—wide, glistening, fixed—hold yours. A shudder runs through him, as if he’s fighting to keep from coming apart. His lips part. For a moment, only breath passes. Then, a whisper frayed with fear: "I don't... I don't want this."