Open RP Post

[littlecatnip]

Leave a prompt or an OP and maybe we can make some magic happen.

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[hijackedbread]

The feel of her fingers on his side almost sends him over the edge. Fortunately, she withdraws a moment later and he's able to drop his shirt and let his fingers splay out at his sides. Peeta focuses on his breathing, then flexes his hands, fist to fan and again. He looks at her, his expression suddenly distant, as if he doesn't quite know who she is or what he's doing here. Tentative.

"I'll be fine." An echo of something he's already said. It's easier to repeat than to think of something new. But it seems unsatisfactory and the way she looks at him makes the tribute realize as much. Instead of focusing, he blurts out the first thing he can think of: "Prim is dead. Real or not real?"

[littlecatnip]

She freezes when he asks that. The memory of her sister's death plays out in her mind and she has to fight back the prickling of tears. All the hope of Prim having a better future once the rebellion succeeded, the loving sister she had done everything to keep save, was gone in an instant.

"Real," her voice is strained and the weight of that word is enough to bring her down. She's so tired. "She died in the raid on the Capitol."

[hijackedbread]

His eyes meet hers with a cold ferocity, not aggressive but intentionally detached now in a different way. Peeta stiffens, his muscles tensing to match her own. It's an unconscious thing and he doesn't notice it, busy watching her for signs of her reaction as if studying a lizard being poked with a stick.

"You couldn't save her." It's not an accusation, but a fact. He states it as such. The hijacking is creeping back in.

[littlecatnip]

"No, I couldn't." A painful fact and one she's slowly been coming to terms with. She refuses to turn away and meets his gaze, not with confidence, but one hoping for understanding since she knows she can't be forgiven. Where's that boy who understands the pain they went through? The one that could comfort her when the nightmares came?

[hijackedbread]

"You couldn't save me either." Real or not real? Peeta's not sure it matters in this moment. He can feel the buzzing anger that builds and has to find a release before he can push it away again. It engulfs and swallows him and suddenly he needs an answer, needs to understand what drove them to this point. It's a knowledge he already possess but can never keep straight.

Peeta tilts his head and smiles. This time, it's cruel. "Why do you even try, Katniss, when you can't save anyone at all?"

[littlecatnip]

He's a weapon. A weapon made just for her and more precise than anything else the Capitol could have created. Her nails dig into the palms of her hands and she can't lash out at Peeta. That's too far even if there's anger welling up inside her at his words.

"Because I have to do something, Peeta! I didn't ask for any of this to happen to Prim, to me, to us." He should know that, he needs to know that and her voice has a layer of urgency to it. "I did everything I could."

[hijackedbread]

It's the pain that starts to bring him back. The more tightly his muscles tense in anticipation of a fight, the more it tugs at his freshly bandaged wound. That her words then insist she did everything she could pulls him back from tumbling off that precipice. His hands splay at his sides and hold there. Peets drops his gaze to look at them, consciously willing them to remark before lifting his eyes again.

"It wasn't enough," he says quietly. Angry, but also hurt. The tribute smirks again, with less confidence. "Thanks for the bandage. I suppose when you can't fix anything, bandaging it is the next best option. Helping me because maybe one day I'll heal enough that you won't have to feel guilty anymore. I hope I don't. I hope I never do."

Not real. Peeta seems to catch that the words are lies as soon as they leave his mouth and awkward straightens in his posture. The renewed pain helps ground him again. "No. Why wouldn't you let me die? I should have died."

[littlecatnip]

She stands strong even if his words are boring beneath her skin and latching onto the vestiges of guilt that remain. No, it hadn't been enough, but what was she to do? She can't raise the dead or turn back the clock. Tick tock. Too many ghosts still remain.

"Peeta, I..." Here she pauses and takes a deep breath. "I wasn't going to let you die then and I'm not going to let you die now. I want to help you." Please.