Awakening to the metallic tang of blood on your lips, the disorienting aftermath of an attack engulfs your senses; the dull ringing in your ears serves as a disconcerting symphony to your hazy recollections of the assault. As consciousness begins to stitch together the fragmented pieces of memory, warm, trembling fingers delicately brush against your skin, prompting you to stumble back.

Peeta kneels before you, his gaze, fraught with nervous concern, meets yours as he silences you with a quiet shush. He moves forward, a hand carefully balancing the bandage upon your wound.

Softness emanates from his eyes, attempting to convey comfort as he offers a tentative smile; murmured reassurances accompany the touch of his hands, a gentle anchor in the midst of your quickened breaths.

“You’re okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”