Everyone decides fairly early in their lives what they don't want.
Katniss never wanted any kids. That's not what she wants to do with her life.
Peeta haven't the faintest idea of what he does or doesn't want. Not yet, not when he's exhausted.
His fingertips and palms start to go numb from packing the ice-crusted, hardened snow onto Gale's bloody, scarring wounds. They're all along his mid-back and his shoulders, leaking, swollen.
"Rr'prry good at thss—"
Gale's voice sounds thick and slurred, possibly from the dose of morphling Prim injected.
The maple wood-carved chair squeaks under his weight, as Peeta reclines on it, observing him. "Try to get some sleep, Gale," he says kindly.
"uunh—nn't the boss ff'me—"
It's a grumpy proclamation and Peeta rests his own eyes by shutting them, snorting out a laugh.
THG isn't mine. Not usually something I ship but I was interested in creating some kind of soft sweet dynamic for these two! Comments/thoughts appreciated!