for bakesafe

They sit on the couch together, more space between them than there's been since his return to District 12. It's mostly her fault this time rather than his. He hasn't had any flashbacks today, experienced any moments of hijacked memories that break apart the reality they've begun to build together. He's almost been like the Peeta she remembers. That boy who risked a beating to give her bread.

She wishes for a second that she could still be that girl. That this was another time, another place. Or that Haymitch had been damned brave enough to leave his drunken stupor behind just for a moment and join them. They both tried. They had both given up rather quickly.

He should be here, though. He should be here. He had been the one to make the final decision, whose vote had made a difference. At least, that's what she tells herself even if, really, she blames herself for what is about to happen. She knew how Haymitch would have voted. Knew without a doubt. Because in the end, they'll always be too much alike.

And even now, even as she doesn't have to face the next half hour alone, she's isolating herself. It may not be the white alcohol, but it's still something. She's the one who took the seat on the other end of the couch, the one who won't even look in his direction. Because even after his hijacking, he had remained good deep down. Better than her.

All she had cared about was revenge then. Even now, months and months after that final vote, the feelings still linger.

Paylor's voice breaks the silence in the room. The anthem of Panem plays in the background and she knows it's about to start. Her heart skips a beat, breath caught in her throat and she freezes in her seat. She's terrified. Ashamed. Broken and yet triumphant all at once. She wants nothing more than to be held by Peeta or to hold him.

But she can't move. She can't do anything but stare at the screen.