Some nights, he sleeps soundly. Others leave him tossing and turning without relief, unable to turn off the restless thoughts of his mind and watching the hours tick away as the sky starts to brighten through the window. Tonight, fortunately, is one of the former - though he hasn't been able to fall into deep sleep since the Games. He's always got an ear out for movement, listening, even when the rest of his body is resting peacefully. He doesn't hear the key turning, doesn't hear the sound of bare feet moving across the floor, but what he does hear is the way the door to the bedroom creaks as it opens wide enough to allow a slender pair of shoulders to slip through. His eyes open slowly, halfway, and he catches the slip of a frame before the mattress dips under added weight.

He stretches, drawing in a deep breath, and swallows, curling over towards her, pulling her in firmly against his chest. "It's okay," he whispers, against the soft part of her hair, his other arm drawing the blankets up to cover her. While he isn't certain what prompted her to use the key he'd given her, he could venture a guess or two - and his guess is that she didn't want to wake her sister, which means it's a nightmare he needs to soothe away, distract her from. He's being partly selfish, too. He sleeps easier with her beside him; it's a fact, and one he doesn't question.

This apartment does have one thing going for it - it's not the cave in the arena. The blankets are soft and cradle them in warmth, and his arms similarly encircle her.