You found Peeta buried in mud, barely conscious, his face pale, his leg torn open by Cato’s blade. The wound was deep, angry, oozing, and you weren’t sure how he hadn’t bled out already. Somehow, despite the panic thrumming through your veins, you managed to clean it, pressing damp leaves against his skin

The rain came down in sheets as you half-dragged, half-carried him to the cave. By the time you got him inside, both of you were soaked, shivering. Peeta was slipping in and out of awareness, his breath shallow, his body trembling. You did what you could—wrapped him in the silver blanket, pressed against him for warmth—but it wasn’t enough.

Guilt curled in your stomach, You’d been thinking about yourself—about surviving. But Peeta… Peeta had been thinking about you. He misled the Careers for you. He saved you. Even before the arena, before this nightmare, he had given you bread when you were starving, when you were nothing but a half-dead girl in the rain. And now, here he was, broken and fevered, and you felt helpless, like nothing you did could ever be enough to repay him.

While he slept, his breathing uneven, you leaned over and pressed the softest kiss to his forehead. A thank you.

Then, the sound—metallic, distant. A parachute drifting down through the rain, glinting silver. You rushed to the cave’s mouth, heart pounding, fingers fumbling as you caught it. Inside, broth. And a note.

"Act like you’re in love."

The words stared back at you, colder than the storm outside. Haymitch’s handwriting, sharp and deliberate. You swallowed hard. You didn’t know how to act like you were in love. You’d never been good at that kind of thing. But Peeta… Peeta had always been so effortless with it. The way he looked at you, spoke about you, fought for you.

You turned back just as Peeta stirred, blinking groggily up at you. His voice was hoarse, weak.

"Please… lay with me."

He was burning up, the fever making his skin clammy and hot.

Had Haymitch sent him a note too? Or… was he not acting?