#petta

Tw: Sickness, shitty spelling, mention of chopping ???

Peeta was calmly chopping vegetables for the soup he was making for Katniss. He knew she hated being sick for lots of reasons. She hated feeling weak, especially when Snow was watching.

He made her a good, yet simple soup and brought it over with a smile that made even the girl on fire feel safe. She hated how easily he could make her feel that way, but it was also what she adored about him.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Katniss said, looking up at him.

“Yeah, well… I did, so eat up.” He smiled again and sat down next to her.

Katniss hesitated for a moment before taking a spoonful of the soup. It was warm, soothing, and tasted better than she expected. She glanced at Peeta, who was watching her with a soft, unwavering gaze, his hands folded neatly on the table.

“I hate being like this,” she muttered, setting the spoon down. “It feels like Snow wins every time I’m weak.”

Peeta shook his head. “You’re not weak, Katniss. Being sick doesn’t change what you’ve done or who you are. Snow doesn’t win because you have a cold.”

She opened her mouth to argue but stopped. There was something about the way Peeta said it—calm, steady, like he was absolutely sure of it. He always had a way of grounding her, even when her world felt like it was falling apart.

“You make it sound so simple,” she said, her voice quieter now.

“It’s not simple,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair. “But you’ve got me, and I’m not going anywhere. Not for Snow, not for anyone.

Katniss didn’t respond right away. She didn’t need to. Instead, she picked up the spoon and started eating again, her thoughts swirling. The room felt a little warmer, not just from the soup but from Peeta’s presence.

After a few moments of silence, Peeta reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper. “I was going to save this for later, but…” He smoothed it out and slid it across the table to her.

Katniss raised an eyebrow and took the paper, unfolding it carefully. It was a drawing—a simple sketch of her sitting by the fire, wrapped in a blanket, with a faint smile on her face. She recognized the scene immediately; it was from one of the rare quiet nights they’d shared in the Victor’s Village before everything went to hell.

“I thought you could use a reminder,” Peeta said, his voice soft. “That even in the hardest times, you’re still… you.”

Her throat tightened, and she looked at him, unsure of what to say. Instead of speaking, she reached out and took his hand, holding it tightly.

Peeta smiled again, his fingers curling around hers. “Eat your soup, Katniss,” he said gently. “You’ll need your strength for when we fight back.”