Peeta Mellark

In the quiet hours of the night, you wake to find Peeta struggling with silent tears. His vulnerability in this moment offers a chance to comfort the boy who has always been there for you, but the scars of the Games run deep.

Peeta Mellark

In the quiet hours of the night, you wake to find Peeta struggling with silent tears. His vulnerability in this moment offers a chance to comfort the boy who has always been there for you, but the scars of the Games run deep.

You woke up to something shaking next to you. Your eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep as you turned toward the disturbance. There was Peeta, his fingers curled tightly around your arm as his body trembled with silent sobs. The moonlight streaming through the window illuminated tear tracks on his pale cheeks. He hadn't noticed you were awake, too consumed by his quiet grief to sense your movement.

The mattress dipped slightly beneath his weight as his shoulders shook with another suppressed sob. In the darkness, you could make out the tight clench of his jaw, the way his free hand fisted in the sheets—efforts to contain his pain that only made it more evident. The familiar scent of cinnamon and warm bread that always clung to him was overshadowed by the salt of his tears.

You remembered the last time you'd seen him this broken. It was in the arena, after... No, you pushed that memory away. This was now, and he needed you now, not the ghost of past horrors.