I can feel the bile rising in my throat as his eyes well up. This couldn't have been a surprise to him, as we've been drifting apart for so long. We aren't the same people we were when we got married. We haven't been the same people for a long time. Surely he's noticed this; it can't just be me who's been unhappy with us. Divorce is ugly, but isn't it worse to stay married to someone when you shouldn't? We don't have any kids or any real shared assets to our name. The restaurant has my name on it but I don't want it - it's all his. I don't need his money to survive; I make enough from my own job to be fine.

"Katniss, I-" He runs his hand through his hair and sighs. "I don't understand."

"We're falling apart, Peeta," I explain. I don't exactly know how to describe what's happened to us. How do I tell my husband that I'm living with a stranger? That his dream job, what he's wanted to do since he was a kid, has turned him into someone I could never imagine him to be. That I feel like a burden to him now because I don't know what to talk to him about?

I can tell he's trying to process what's happening. His forehead is scrunched and his lips are pursed in the classic 'confused Peeta' face. "How long have you…been this unhappy?"

"It's been a long time coming."

"That's not what I'm asking. Every marriage has its problems; we knew this would be tough going in. How long have you been this unhappy without telling me?"

I'm silent. He's right; I should have brought this up before I had Johanna draft up the paperwork. In my defense, it's not like he's been home lately. He spends all his time at the restaurant or thinking about the restaurant or complainingabout the damn restaurant. But is it fair to blame him? He's already upset enough. "Six months."

"Since the restaurant really took off," he realizes, his voice cracking.

I stare at my hands on the table; unable to look into those beautiful blue eyes that are so vital to me they might as well be my own. The blue eyes of my best friend and the love of my life, who I'm so close to walking away from forever. I hear him pick up the papers and flip through them.

"Just, uh, just give me a few days, Katniss. Can you do that?"

I nod. I can't do anything else. He deserves better than me, I reason, to share his dream with. Someone who can handle his ridiculous shifts and 70 hours weeks, who can talk to him when there are problems instead of internalizing it. No, that person was never supposed to be me. In time, he'll get over the shock and realize that there's someone out there better for him.

He slips the papers into his jacket pocket. As he walks past me, I can feel him press his lips to the crown of my head. I want to reach up to him, to thread my fingers through his and provide him some bit of comfort. Serving him with divorce papers doesn't negate the idea that I do love him and always will. Our wedding vows of "together forever" may be shattering, but I swore that I would commit myself to his happiness, and this may be the only way to truly make him happy.

Give me one more chance, Katniss, to make it up to you. Let me prove to you that we haven't been for nothing, that our marriage hasn't been a complete failure. Meet me at the restaurant at 8. If it's still not enough, I'll sign the papers and be out of your life forever. Just know that I love you too much to just let you go without a fight. I love you. You belong to me.

- Peeta.

I set the card down on the couch next to me and glance over at the Macy's box it had been sitting on. They were both placed on the coffee table when I got home from work. I'm not sure how Peeta got it into the house; he left his key the day he moved his belongings out, but I suspected my "darling" sister of being the culprit. Prim seemed to take the news of mine and Peeta's impending divorce harder than either of us. She would do anything to keep us together - including giving in to one of Peeta's "grand acts of love." She always gushed when I would vent to her about the lengths he would go, calling them romantic, and wishing her future husband would treat her that way. She never could understand why I hated it when he went out of his way to 'prove' his love or apologize for things.

Fancy dinners and meeting celebrities and exotic trips and expensive jewelry may have been fun at first, but they weren't what I wanted from him. Those weren't the things I needed from him. No, I always preferred the small, intimate gestures; the things he did when we were just friends that made me see him in a different light. Over time, however, those dwindled away until I was left with a man who thought bigger was better when it came to expressing his feelings.

I miss the old Peeta, the Peeta I married so young, defying our families because we knew better. The Peeta who dreamed bigger than I could ever imagine, but always made sure I knew I was first in those dreams. And then those dreams started coming true for him. He opened a restaurant, determined to prove all the people who called him a fool for wanting to open a business in this lousy economy wrong. I admired that, I loved that. He was always striving to prove that he was better than what others expected of him. He stood up to that witch of a mother so many times for so many things, just because she told him he "couldn't" do something.

It didn't take long for people to take notice of him and his food. And once they did, our lives exploded – four month waiting lists, A-list celebrities coming to visit, long hours, and even longer weeks. There were days where we wouldn't see each other at all except when he crawled into bed late at night, mere hours before I woke up for work the next morning. He felt guilty about it and the guiltier he felt, the more extravagant his gifts became. And he began slipping further and further away from me.

I glance at the clock on the wall. It's only 6, so I've got two hours to get ready and head down to his restaurant. Even though I know he's got something utterly ridiculous planned that will likely involve everyone we know huddled together for some intervention-type thing, I can't really deny him this. He's been handling this better than I expected he would, giving me my space, moving into the small apartment above the restaurant, and getting his stuff when he knew I'd be gone. He hasn't tried to pressure me into reconsidering, which is odd and very unlike Peeta, but I shouldn't complain. I can't complain. Instead, I decide to grant him his last request and make my way to shower off the day.

I lift the lid off the Macy's box and run my hand over the soft, black fabric. It fits perfectly as I slip it on and I can't fight the smile that overtakes my face. Peeta still remembers my dress size after all these years. And what style looks best on my not-so-feminine frame. I study myself in the mirror and let out a small snort at his choice. A scoop neckline embroidered with a strand of pearls that continues down to scoop at my lower back, cut along the bias to accent my virtually non-existent curves. It falls all the way down my legs and skims the floor, even without having to wear super high heels, which I've always hated. At the bottom of the box is a pearl hair comb. It's just like the one he bought for our wedding and my heart flutters at the memory. We were happy then, I know we were, so full of life and love and ready to throw our middle fingers to the world.

I promised him I would never desert him. He promised to keep me as his number one.

"Ah, Mrs. Mellark! How good to see you again!" The maître d' greets me as I step into District 13. "And how beautiful you look. Like Audrey Hepburn!"

I flush but try to hide my eye roll at his flirtatious ways. Whenever I came in with Peeta, Chaff would always try to tell me I looked like some classic Hollywood starlet. Audrey Hepburn was just another in a long list of apparent "Katniss look-alikes" in his mind. "Good evening, Chaff," I answer. "I'm supposed to meet Peeta here?"

He smiles and nods. "Ah yes, Chef Mellark has put a very special table on reserve for you. Please follow me."

I force a smile. "Thank you." It's been awhile since I've been inside the restaurant but it feels just like it did when Peeta opened it. The inside is designed to look like a log cabin and all the tables and chairs are cut to resemble logs. The walls are a soft orange and the lighting accentuates the "sunset" feel. I could have sworn that Peeta talked about redecorating the place, streamlining it to make it more clean and modern, but he must have changed his mind because District 13 is the epitome of coziness.

Chaff takes me to a small table near the back, presumably so Peeta can jet back to the kitchen if he's needed. "Here's your menu, Mrs. Mellark. I'll send someone back to take your order."

I try to stop him - to tell him that we'll need two menus; even though Peeta knows the menu by heart, he likes the feel of having it in his hand. He always said it made everything feel real that way. I sigh when I realize that Chaff is out of sight and I'll have to wait until they send a waiter over. I'm confused when one makes his way to my table with a tray of food, since I haven't ordered or even seen one yet.

"Ah, Mrs. Mellark, compliments of the chef," the young waiter says with a wink as he sets a small plate with a cheese pastry and a mug of decadent hot chocolate in front of me.

"Thank you, but can you tell me when my husband will be here?"

The waiter smiles, somewhat nervously I notice. "Chef Mellark had an emergency in the kitchen, Ma'am. But I was told to send you his regards and he will be here as soon as he can."

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my tongue in check. Of course there was an emergency. The pastry and hot chocolate, both of which I love, are apology gifts. "Thank you."

I pick at the pastry. Cheese buns are my weakness which only infuriates me more. He asked for this night, didn't he, to prove that we weren't falling apart; yet here he is, unable to spare even a few minutes to greet me or to bring these "gifts" himself. As delicious as these treats are, they leave a bitter taste in my mouth.

By the time I finish picking at the food and push the plate away from me, the waiter has returned, again with a tray of food ready to serve. "Do you often serve food before the patron orders it?" I ask as he clears my plate and replaces it with a chicken and rice dish that makes me salivate instantly.

"We do what we're told to do, Ma'am," he answers. "Compliments of the chef. He hopes you enjoy this special dish, for tonight only, chicken and saffron rice with chocolate sauce." The waiter then sets a glass flute in front of me and pours a sparkling pink champagne into it. "The chef would pair this dish with a classic Champagne Gosset Grand Rosé. Enjoy."

I frown. An East Indian dish paired with traditional French champagne makes absolutely no sense. I'm not a trained sommelier by any stretch of the imagination, but enough time spent with Peeta doing food-wine samples taught me some basics. I eat my food slowly, even though my hope of Peeta joining me is slowly dissipating. If he hadn't slipped out yet, it isn't likely he'll be able to. As much as I want to enjoy the food, the overwhelming sadness of what's happening overtakes me. I should have been relieved, this night proved my point better than anything I could have thought up. Once again, Peeta is putting his dreams ahead of me and attempting to make up for it with extravagance.

I set my napkin on the plate and push my chair back. I can't stay in this place any longer, knowing what I know, that this was his last chance and he blew it. Before I can stand, the waiter is back with another tray of food. "Ah, Ma'am, leaving before dessert? Chef Mellark wanted to save the best for last." I hesitate and push my chair back to the table.

"Alright. But can you ask Chef Mellark to come see me, please? It is of the utmost importance."

"Absolutely, Mrs. Mellark," he answers, placing a crystal sundae glass in front of me. "For dessert, a homemade caramel corn with peanuts."

I laugh. "Cracker Jacks? Peeta made Cracker Jacks for dessert?"

The waiter simply places a spoon next to the bowl along with a thick envelope. "The chef would like you to have this, as well."

I swallow hard, knowing full well what's in the envelope. I open it and can't believe my eyes. Sitting in front of me, true to his word, are our divorce papers. And under my hastily scribbled Katniss Everdeen Mellark is the distinct scrawl of Peeta Mellark. I slip the papers into my purse and once more slide my chair from my table. Here he was, yet again, sending things through another when all I needed was for him to come to me himself. A sparkle catches my attention and my eyes are glued on the dessert. Curiously, I finger through the homemade Cracker Jacks until I find the source and again I cannot contain my laughter. Just like the original treat, Peeta has included a surprise toy. I turn the ring over in my shaking fingers and spy an engraving on the underside of the diamond. 4W.

"Oh, Peeta." The restaurant, our memories, they overwhelm me and I can't breathe. I catch the arm of the waiter as I rush out of the restaurant, thanking him for everything and telling him that I won't need to speak with Peeta. The outside air, although cool in early spring, feels heavy on my bare skin. I don't know where to go but I now know, with more clarity than ever, what it is I need to do.

"Two drifters, off to see the world

There's such a lot of world to see

We're after the same rainbow's end, waitin' 'round the bend.

My huckleberry friend, moon river, and me"

"The last time you sang that song was our wedding."

I watch as Peeta slips off his chef's jacket and hangs it on the back of the dining room chair in his tiny apartment. He keeps his distance from where I'm sitting in the oversized window ledge, my head resting on the cool glass. "It's a beautiful song."

"More beautiful when you sing it. Though most things are. Always have been." He runs his hand through his sweat-dampened curls. "I take it you got the paperwork I sent for you."

I nod. "I'm sorry, Peeta."

"Yeah. Me too." He gives me a half smile. "But we tried, you know? And maybe…maybe they were right and we were too young when we got married. I always thought you and I were meant to be, you know? That we could get through anything."

"That's not what I'm sorry about." I stop him, swinging my legs over to the edge of the windowsill and silently walk over to him. "The dress, the pastry, the dinner, the Cracker Jacks and the ring. I'm sorry that I missed all of those signs." I laugh, even though I can feel tears forming in my eyes. "I'm surprised you didn't send a cat mask over or something."

He blushes and reaches into the pocket of his jacket, producing both a cat and dog mask. "I was going to bring them out to you. But then I heard that you left and I thought…I thought I missed my chance."

"I can't believe you remember."

"Like I could ever forget. That was the day I fell in love with you, Katniss Everdeen."

It was our first date, only not with each other. When Peeta's date, Madge, I think her name was, suggested we go to the matinee showing of Breakfast at Tiffany's, I'm positive my date saw it as a way to make out with me freely. Little did he know how much I loved Breakfast at Tiffany's, so any making out would have to wait. Turns out it held a soft spot in Peeta's heart as well and we spent the entire time reciting lines between Holly and Paul back and forth. Our dates were less than amused and neither of them wanted to go out with us again.

But Peeta and I did. We jokingly thanked our original dates for introducing us, and Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard for bringing us together at our wedding. I even wore a white dress that was similar to the one Holly wore in the beginning of the film. The one that was so similar to the one I had on now. Every emotion in my body hit me instantly. Peeta bought me this dress not just because of the movie that brought us together, but because it was just like the white one that still hung in my closet, pearl beading and all. How could I have not seen that before? Everything he had been doing had been for me. The restaurant's decor, the cheese bun, giving me my space during our time apart, even moving here after college because I got a job first, it had all been all about me.

I feel his thumb wipe away the tear that slipped from my eye. "I know that things are different between us, but it's always been about you. I've been so lost lately but you've always been what keeps me sane. You always have been."

"Oh Fred, darling," I whisper.

"I love you, Lula Mae," he answers, bringing his lips to mine.

Thanks to Chelzie for looking this over for me.

This fic was, obviously, inspired by the movie Breakfast at Tiffany's, and the song by Deep Blue Something. For anyone who hasn't seen the movie:

"You belong to me" is from when Paul tries to convince Holly that love is real and people do belong to other people.

The opening scene of the movie is Audrey Hepburn stepping out of a taxi in the iconic black dress, eating a pastry and drinking a coffee outside of Tiffany's (with the obligatory HG twist)

She attempts to make chicken and saffron rice with chocolate sauce for Paul to serve with a Rosé when she's proving how domesticated she can be. The pressure cooker explodes, getting food all over the kitchen.

Paul has her initials engraved in a ring he gets from a Cracker Jacks box.

4E is from a scene where Paul confronts Holly about marrying someone else:

Paul: You are getting married then?

Holly: Well, he hasn't really asked me, not in so many words.

Paul: Four, you mean? Well that's how many words it takes – will. you. marry. me.?

Holly and Paul steal a cat and dog mask from a Five and Dime store.

Holly often says Paul looks like her brother Fred and calls him "Fred, darling" or "Fred, baby"

Holly's actual name is Lula Mae.

I think that's everything. If there are references you don't understand, let me know.