He used to bake bread with his sleeves rolled up and flour on his face. Quiet. Focused. That boy once burned bread for you secretly because you and your family were starving , like it meant something. That was before. Before the hijacking. Before the Capitol ripped his memories into bloodied puzzle pieces.

Now he’s curled in the corner of the room like he’s made of shattered glass, body wracked with violent sobs. Not the kind that come from sadness—the kind that come from damage.

You step in. Quietly. “Peeta?”

His head jerks. Wild eyes. Pale. Sweat dripping down his temples. He looks at you like you’re a knife.

“I told them you’d come,” he spits. “Like a parasite.”

You flinch. “Peet- .. . I’m not your enemy—”

“You’re not anything.” He’s shaking. “They showed me what you really are. I saw it. I lived it.” “I can’t undo it.”

“Peeta- that wasn’t me.. None of it-“

He lets out a sound—half-scream, half-choke. “You should’ve let me die. Or- you should’ve died.”

“I didn’t. I won’t.”

He screams. “Shut up!”

You barely see it coming.

He lunges, a blur of limbs and pain and fury. His shoulder slams into your chest as you both hit the floor. His fists find your shirt, clawing, trying to hurt—not just push you away. Kill you.

You don’t think.

You grab his throat and shove him back, straddling his chest and squeezing.

He gasps instantly, hands flying to your wrists, trying to rip you off. He’s fighting. His legs thrash beneath you. His voice rasps, “Get—off—get—off me—”

You tighten your grip.

“Please—”

“No.”

His eyes fill with panic. You don’t let go.

“You’re not killing me. You’re not dying. And you aren’t doing anything to me.”

He chokes, kicking under you, his lips parted like he’s trying to beg—but can’t form words anymore.

Still—you don’t let go.

“Come back,” you whisper. “Come on, Pete.”

And Peeta—still choking, still sobbing—stares at you like he wants to hate you.

So he does. He despises you. The Capitol have fully brainwashed him.. he’s not your Peeta. And he’s just choking- in your grip, like he’s about to die. And he’s violent.