Long Live The King

mellarkia:

The Reaping from Peeta’s POV.

For a few, blissful but torturous moments I’m just another face in the crowd as Katniss Everdeen takes her place on the stage. No one else can feel my stomach fall through the floor. No one else will notice the way her knees tremble a little and her skirt hem blows in the slight breeze. Even I barely have time to notice, because my name is in Effie Trinket’s fingers, and then falling off her lips. Somewhere between the crowd and the stage, I realise that my fate is already sealed; no matter how much my brain screams to let my fondness for her fall down those wooden stairs and crash like glass on the floor, I won’t relinquish this connection that’s fed my heart for so many years. Effie Trinket’s hands are like steel around my shoulders, and Katniss’ palm is slippery. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. The first touch, the first look, the first time the District saw us together. No, all of this is wrong.

(via mynightmaresareaboutlosingyou)