Peeta had been gone for far too long. He went to drop off some white liquor for Haymitch like he always does. Like you always do. But it had been hours, he's normally back within ten minutes. You wanted to call, you wanted to go there yourself, but you didn't want to interrupt anything between the two, so you waited in bed.

He finally came home at 11pm, followed by loud clattering and sound of broken glasses which urged you to bounce out of bed and into the kitchen where he stood, practically leaned, over the counter.

You called his name and he turned to look at you with half opened eyes and his jaw hung open slightly. Drunk. Peeta was drunk.

Peeta never drank, always declining anything from Haymitch. So this was a shock to you, he looked far too out of it to even be drunk. He definitely had a low tolerance for it.

He slurred a greeting and stumbled towards you, practically falling into you.