Title: The Roommate AU
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine. Typed this up pretty quick so I apologize for the grammar.
Peeta Mellark was not a fan of cats.
"What is that thing?"
"He is Snow." Clove picked up the beast and clutched him to her chest, stroking it's smooth black head. "Get it? Black cat, named after snow?" Peeta blinked, more out of disbelief than anything else. She interpreted it as confusion. "It's ironic."
"...you didn't mention any pets."
The creature meowed, an ugly noise, as though it were trying to plead it's case. Clove babied it, holding it tighter. "It doesn't matter now, I already signed the contract. And, correct me if I'm wrong, there wasn't anything about pets."
"Yeah, well, I'm adding this now. No cats allowed."
"Wow!" Her eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "I didn't know you were a comedian."
(The cat stayed.)
Clove, he learned, wasn't as dumb as she looked. (Her devil cat decided to crash in his room and the comforter paid the price. He was pissed about the loss and took to internalizing insults directed at her. Better for his health.) She kept a closet full of skirts and dresses, shoes and purses-and a shelf crammed with books on biology and chemistry. While he focused on international relations, she spent her days in a lab.
Sometimes (Always.) there was a down side to living with someone so scientifically oriented.
"You smell."
People often compliment his social skills, admired the way he could phrase anything into a compliment. He rarely put the skill to use around her. (He wasn't going to try to win her over. She wasn't making an effort either.)
"Charming." Clove shimmied out of her coat, dropping it onto the floor. She scowled at it; the navy colored garment had offended her. "It's formaldehyde, idiot. And I got it all over my new jacket! Now I'll have to get it dry-cleaned!"
He snorted. "What, you pulled apart some dead frog?"
That comment was neither cute nor amusing. In an instant, she had her arms wrapped around him. Her smelly blouse pressed against his recently washed sweat shirt.
"Sheep brain, actually. Oh, and you might want to take a shower, Peeta. You smell."
(He showered. Three times.)
Contrary to popular belief, Peeta Mellark felt a certain degree of anxiety in front of crowds. An upcoming presentation for his US and Foreign Policy class was slowly killing him.
So he baked.
The process of mixing, tasting, pouring, and decorating could be described as cathartic. Peeta mixed a bowl of chocolate, methodical and determined, every so often pausing to make sure the consistency was adequate.
"Oh my god, do I smell brownies?" She was still clad in short shorts and a tank top, not terribly decent. Neither seemed to be affected by her state of undress. "They're here, aren't they? Don't you lie to me, Mellark!"
Her reaction to the heavenly scents filling the house did not merit an answer. Clove didn't need one. She spotted the tray cooling on top of the stove and wasted no time in grabbing a knife.
"Jesus." She moaned. An attractive scantily dressed young woman was moaning in his kitchen and he was totally unfazed. "Why is this not something you do all day, every day?!" He didn't even berate her for abandoning the knife in favor of a spoon-she treated the tray like a single serving. "Where'd you learn to bake like this?"
Cupcakes went in the oven and only then did he consider a reply. "At home."
She tilted her head to the side, teasing. With a mouth full of chewy brownies her actions could hardly be thought malicious. "Awww! Little pita bread baked with mommy at home!"
Clove was wrong, of course. His mother was a workaholic, dedicated to her corporate job. It was his father who had shown him, and his brothers, around the kitchen. The man had hoped to prepare his boys for the day they moved on to live on their own. (Yes, they knew about Clove. They were bold in their insinuations.)
"My dad taught me." Her silence conveyed a subtle interest in why that might have been. "Mom wasn't the stay-at-home type. Didn't have the patience required, really." Not that he resented her; she put food on the table and that would forever be appreciated.
Peeta expected his housemate to ignore the comment, or make some snide remark undermining his manliness. She did not.
"Hm." The table spoon was also set aside. This time she went for a mixing spoon. (Absolutely no respect for kitchen utensils, that one!) "You'll give me this recipe, right?"
(In the end, she bullied it out of him.)
Exactly two and a half months after she moved in, Clove made friends. She didn't bother letting him know who would be barging into the house. Or when. (This wasn't necessarily bad.)
"Why do you have to put both locks on the door, Clove?" He stuffed his keys back into his pocket, useless against that safety lock. Reaching for his backpack, he didn't notice Clove's absence . "Are you that paranoid about-"
Then, he did. Olive skin, jet black hair, and eyes the color of a-
"Silver sharpie."
The girl at the door displayed a bemused a expression, corners of her plump fire colored lips quirking upwards. (He totally noticed the red shade she wore, it looked good on her.) "What?"
Peeta had said that out loud, hadn't he? How eloquent. "Nothing! Just, uh...thanks for opening the door for me, I guess."
Tossing her dark braid over her shoulder, she leaned against the doorframe. "Odd. I could have sworn you asked me for a sharpie...anyway, Clove's not here. She asked me to watch Snow for her. I think she's afraid you'll kill her if he gets in your room again. Not a fan of cats?"
Finally, she opened the door wide enough for him to walk through. He couldn't look away from her, eyes drinking her in. Brown leather jacket, red dress that bordered on too short. Bronze arrow shaped earrings. Peeta committed these details to memory, even the old brown boots that left tiny bits of dry mud on the mahogany floors.
"Sadly, no." He gave a shy chuckle, hoping she hadn't caught it. Meanwhile, a backpack lay forgotten on the front porch. (Later, Clove would throw it in his room, hitting him.) "I'm Peeta, by the way."
"I know. Clove talks about you." Her arms crossed over her chest as she let herself fall into the couch. Snow was nowhere in sight. "Complains about you, I mean. But she did say you make fantastic brownies."
"Ha! You should taste my cheese buns!"
It was silent enough to hear a grasshopper chirp. He hadn't thought that through. Not at all. Awkwardness stretched over them until a grin broke across her pretty face.
"Okay, sure. Yeah!" She laughed, a highly musical sound. (She could have screeched in terror and Peeta would still declare it musical.) "I'll have a cheese bun!"
"Great!" The blond cleared his throat, afraid he had been overexcited by her decision to try a cheese bun. "Sounds good. I'll make some. Not right this second. In the future. Sometime soon."
"Awesome. I like cheese." That smile never faded; instead it gained a mischievous edge. She hopped off the couch, adjusting her jacket. "So, since you're here, Peeta, I think I'll be leaving. You can watch over, Snow, can't you? Tell Clove I'll call her later. See ya! And don't forget about the cheese buns!"
He locked the door behind her (One lock, not two.) and realized he hadn't asked for a name.
(That's what housemates were for though. Clove would know it.)
Kinda lame, I know. Roommates is a pretty popular AU (it think) so I decided to try it. I haven't been very active on fanfiction lately and I wanted to write something fun and Everlark flavored. Tada!
Anyway, guys, I hope everyone had a great summer! Happy back to school season! :)