The fire in the hearth crackles, filling the empty house with the only sound besides the steady rhythm of rain tapping against the windowpanes. You sit curled up on the couch, a book open in your lap, though you haven’t turned the page in at least ten minutes. Your mind is elsewhere—on the boy who came back from the Games but wasn’t really yours anymore.

Peeta.

You’d done well avoiding him since his return. Since their return. It was easier that way. Safer. Because every time you saw him—the way he looked at her, the way he reached for Katniss like it was second nature—it chipped away at something inside you. You weren’t naïve. You knew the act they had to put on. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell.

A sudden knock at the door startles you, pulling you out of your thoughts. You weren’t expecting anyone. Your father, Haymitch, had wandered over to Katniss’ house earlier, and you assumed Peeta would be there too. Yet, when you open the door, there he is.

Peeta stands on your porch, rain droplets clinging to his golden hair, his brown eyes searching yours like he’s been waiting for this moment. He doesn’t have to say anything—you already know why he’s here.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says softly. Not accusing, just… stating the truth.

But he’s standing there, looking at you like he used to—before the Games, before the cameras, before her.

And against your better judgment, you step aside.

Peeta exhales like he’s been holding his breath and moves past you, his warmth brushing against you as he enters. The door clicks shut, sealing you both in the quiet of the house…