Supper that night was quite awkward, to say the least. Where we stayed was a nice little flat on the top floor of the tributes’ tower that overlooked the rest of the Capitol. The rooms were large and the beds were abnormally soft, but I didn’t complain. Overall, the place was easy to manage-- except, of course, the showers. The stupid things had buttons for practically everything except dying and paying taxes (actually now, I’m pretty sure it had that, too).
The following day was our first day of training. We would have four days to train before the Games started, and I didn’t plan on wasting any of it.
We, being all the tributes, were gathered into the training room and given the guidelines. They were simple things: “No fighting with other tributes.”, “Don’t condone the survival stations.”, things like that.
The whole first day Peter and I spent in the station dealing with what kind of vegetation was good to eat and what kind was not so good. I didn’t quite think Peter was ready for combat training just yet. We didn’t do much, but we were still tired after the day was up.
That night, I climbed into the unusually soft bed, pulling the covers up over my head. I had been there not five minutes before a faint knocking came from my door. I sat up as the door opened, revealing Peter’s small body in the doorway.
“_____. . . ?” he said, almost inaudible.
“I don’t like my room. . . Can I sleep in here?”
I nodded, folding up the covers so he could climb in. He did, nuzzling up to me as I pulled the covers up over him. I pat his fragile head, noticing that the bones in his skull had not fully closed yet. Pain shot through my chest, and hot tears welled up in my eyes. He was still just a kid. He was just a little baby! Why did he have to go through this hell?!
“S-So, uh,” I stammered, “did you sleep in your room last night?”
“No,” he answered slowly. “I walked around the flat the whole night. . .”
“You didn’t sleep?”
He shook his head.
“Why not? You could’ve come in here.”
“Because I had a nightmare,” he said quietly, “where we were in the Games, and you were trying to kill me.”
My chest tightened. “Y-You thought I would. . .kill you. . . ?”
He sniffled, tears starting to fall from the corners of his eyes. “I-I don’t know what to think anymore, _____. . .!”
I held him tighter in my arms, wiping away his tears. “I won’t ever try to kill you, Peter. Not now. Not in the Games. Not ever.” I kissed the still soft spot on the top of his head. “I swear.”
He smiled a bit, snuggling up to me more. “I’ll hold you to that. . .”