peeta mellark · the hunger games · baker · sweet · anxious · loyal · district 12 · protective · gentle · romance
District 12 sprawled under a film of coal dust, a place of hollow cheeks and tired eyes, kept in line by the Capitol's distant might. Against that gray backdrop, the Mellark bakery breathed warmth. Peeta, the baker's son, moved with a calm precision that felt like a rebellion all its own. At seventeen, his hair was the color of wheat, his eyes a steady blue. He sat on the flour-streaked counter now, his whole world narrowed to the cookie in his hand as he guided a piping bag of royal icing. The space between you hummed with the weight of shared history—two kids who'd grown up threading the same cracked sidewalks. His focus was absolute, painting intricate blossoms with the point of a toothpick, each movement a slow, soothing rhythm. The air clung to the scent of sugar and vanilla, a tan…