He's looking at me again.

It's been four years since the incident, and the boy with the bread still watches me from across the hallways, or our math classroom, or from the other side of the yard after school. And I wish he wouldn't. It's driving me crazy.

Right now, it's in the middle of our math class. He's sitting with his head stooped over his desk, seemingly concentrating on something, but I see it. Every so often he turns his head slightly and I catch those blue eyes on me again. He must be wondering why I never said anything to him about it, why I never thanked him for how he helped me those years ago. Because why else would he still be watching me today?

The thing is, it's been happening a lot more lately. Before, I would occasionally catch his fleeting glance at unexpected times, but in the last couple of weeks it seems as though every time I catch sight of him, he's looking at me. Once, when we accidentally bumped into each other right after he took second place in his wrestling tournament against his own brother, he even looked like he was going to say something. Instead, he muttered an apology and, cheeks red, pushed past me.

I'm sorry I never gave you the gratitude you apparently wanted, Peeta Mellark. I'll make sure to rectify that soon.

"What's on your mind, Catnip?" Gale asks me in the woods later that day.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I mean, you seem distracted. What are you thinking about?"

I'm quiet, watching the small cloud of my breath that billows out in the chilly air. "Nothing," I finally tell him. "I'm just thinking about a project for school." I'm not sure why I tell him this instead of the truth, but I somehow don't think Gale would understand if I told him how I'm trying to find a way to thank the baker's son. Which is strange, when I think about it, because Gale is from the Seam, just like me. He understands what it feels like to owe someone.

"Must be some project," he mutters under his breath.

I decide to ignore him, and instead aim my arrow at a squirrel that scampers up a tree nearby. It meets its target a second later, hitting the creature directly in the eye, sending it fluttering to the ground below. As it does, I move forward to pick it up, tucking it into my game bag from the spot where it lands.

"It's starting to get dark," Gale says as he looks up towards the sky. "Maybe we should head back."

"Okay," I agree, "I have enough for today, anyway."

"Me too," he says, securing his own game bag tighter on his belt. "Should be enough to feed us for a couple of days, at least."

We begin the journey back, passing banter back and forth between us. We're almost back to the fence when I come to a halt. "What?" Gale asks, but I don't answer. I can't, or we'll scare it off. Because there, a few feet away from us, stands a robust deer. They're rare enough as it is, and this one is the biggest we've seen in some time. Fortunately, Gale has spotted it as well and no further explanation is needed. Moving silently and quickly, I draw another arrow from my quiver, and place it carefully on my bow. I take some time to make sure I have a good, clean shot before I finally release the tension on the string.

To my amazement, the deer follows over, dead. In one shot.

Gale lets out a whistle. "Not bad, Catnip," he says as he makes his way over to it.

"Help me get it home," I tell him as I follow. Together, we lift the carcass and amble back the remainder of the way to the fence. It takes some time to get it on the other side - Gale has to slide under first, and he pulls on it while I push - but we finally do, and then we begin the business of getting it through town without garnering too much attention from the few Peacekeepers who would still arrest us for our poaching.

"Let's get it back to your house before we take go trade at the bakery. How do you want to split it?" Gale asks me as he sizes up the deer, clearly starting to make plans for it already.

I say nothing.

"Catnip?"

"Actually..." I begin slowly, "I was thinking maybe we could take it to the bakery as well."

"What? Why?"

"N- no reason," I say. "I mean, maybe if we trade this with the baker, we can pick up a whole cake for Prim and Posy."

"What? You're crazy."

"No, Gale, I'm being serious..."

"I'm not helping you take this deer to the bakery. They're merchants, they can afford to buy the expensive meat!"

"Please, Gale-" a pleading tone enters my voice. He interrupts me before I can attempt to state my case.

"No. Forget it, Catnip. You're on your own for this one." And with that, he takes off, leaving me with the body of a heavy deer to get across District 12 all on my own. Grumbling all kinds of words my mother would scold me for if she heard me, I pick the deer up by the front and give it a pull.

And nothing happens.

Growing more frustrated by the minute, I give it another try, still with no luck. It takes three attempts before, after an extra hard push off, I finally get it to budge. I continue like this all the way through the Seam and down the path that leads to the back of the merchant shops. A few buildings down from the bakery, I finally stop short.

How should I do this? I wonder to myself. It's meant for Peeta, though obviously the whole family will benefit from it. Even so, since it is for him, I don't feel like it's proper to leave it with his father like I do when I trade the squirrels. But Peeta and I have never spoken two words to each other, and the thought of asking for him directly, large deer in hand, seems nothing but awkward.

I'll just leave it on the back door, I finally decide, and begin to move again. I make it to the bakery as fast as I can while dragging a hundred pound plus deer behind me. It's the steps that give me the most trouble. The sound of it being dragged up them leaves a loud thud with each one, and I'm afraid the entire time I work that I'll be discovered. I've just made it to the top stoop thinking that maybe I'm in the clear, when suddenly the door opens and I'm looking straight into the blue eyes of Peeta Mellark.

"Oh," he says when he sees me bent over the deer, "uh, I'll go get my father."

It takes everything in me to break myself from the paralyzing nervousness that has overcome me. "No," I say standing up, "you don't need to do that." I look at him, wide-eyed, and swallow before I continue. "Um, it's... it's for you, actually."

Peeta just looks at me, bewildered, for what seems like ages. "Me?" he finally asks.

I nod.

"Um, thanks," he says. "But... why?"

Doesn't he know? Is he playing a game with me? "To thank you for the bread," I say.

"Bread?" he repeats, "what bread?"

I say nothing.

"From when we were kids?" he asks gently.

"Yeah," I say quietly, my voice sounding as though I'm all of eleven years old again. "I never properly thanked you for it."

"Katniss, you don't need to thank me for that-"

"I do!" I say a little too forcefully. "You helped my whole family! You saved our lives that day! We'd be dead if you hadn't given me that bread! I'd be dead if you hadn't given me that bread..." I say the last part quietly.

"I know," he says, looking at me sadly. "That's why I did it."

I feel offended. "I don't need your pity, Peeta Mellark," I snap at him.

"What? I don't- It's not pity."

I only frown at him before I turn and stomp down the steps as loudly as I can. I don't know why he's acting this way. I paid him back for the bread at last with this deer. We're even now. He doesn't need to rub his advantage over me any further.

"Katniss! Wait! Please," he calls from behind me, and I spin on my heel to glare back up at him.

"I don't pity you. Not at all. In fact, I, uh..." he struggles, his cheeks turning a distinct shade of pink. "I actually admire you. Quite a bit."

I don't answer, instead raising an eyebrow suspiciously at him, my hands balled into fists.

"I mean it," he continues. "Please, Katniss. I'm not trying to insult you. Honest."

I study him for a few minutes, taking in the lazy way his blond curls fall into his soft blue eyes that are now pleading with me silently. He has another bruise on his face, and my mind drifts back to another memory of that day, the one of how his mother beat him for dropping two loaves of bread into the fire. The very same two that he gave me. I wonder if this new one is from the same source, maybe for a similar reason. I don't know why - maybe it's just because I want to - but I believe him.

"Okay," I tell him, and then turn to leave.

"Katniss!" he calls again, and I turn to see what he wants this time, my face questioning.

"Do you... uh... do you want to join my friends and me for lunch tomorrow?" he asks with an air of nervousness. I frown.

"No..." I say.

"Oh," he says and his face visibly falls, disappointment evident as he drops his eyes to the ground.

"You can sit with Madge and me if you want, though."

His face jerks up, and when he sees that I'm serious, his face lights up with a grin so wide it looks almost painful. "Okay!" he says. "Then, I'll, uh, see you tomorrow.

"Okay," I say and turn to return home, trying to ignore the weird sensation in the pit of my stomach.

A/N: Hello, everyone! I'm sorry to keep you all waiting for the next chapter of A House United - it's coming, I promise! This is another idea I've been stewing on for some time. It probably won't be continued until I've written much more of AHU and resumed work on The First Year is the Hardest, but consider it a teaser. I hope you like it!