A/N: Oh my god I managed to write a non 'M' Peetato fic! *Le gasp!* Okay, this one is definitely a one shot for Valentine's Day. This is all there is going to be! (:
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.
Day One:
The screeching of wheels woke him up as the alarm clock bolted off the bedside table and raced across his bedroom, wailing at the high volume, demanding to be heard. Peeta groaned and hauled himself up, knowing the clock wasn't going to stop until we got up and switched it off. It was a clever way to get someone to wake up but was annoying as hell at the same time.
"Peeta Mellark, switch that goddamn clock off or god help me I am going to throw it into the garbage shoot!" His mother screamed from her bedroom.
"Doing it now mother," Peeta called back. He kicked the clock as he passed it on his way to the bathroom, silencing it's insistant screeching. His mother came out of her bedroom at the same time as him with a face on her that could scare the alarm clock into silence on its own.
"I swear to god Mellark, you're going to be the death me," she muttered angrily.
"Sorry," Peeta muttered, moving around her to get to the bathroom. His mother really wasn't a morning person and loathed the fact that he had to get up early every morning to go to college. Actually, she loathed the fact that he decided to go to college in the first place instead of just working for her at the bakery.
"That alarm clock is going in the bin," Mrs. Mellark called as shut the bathroom door.
"Whatever you think's best mother," Peeta said back. He didn't understand why his mother hated him so much just because he didn't want to work in the family bakery. She was lucky she had him when she needed help rebuilding the place after the accident. Then again, the accident was his fault so it was only fitting that he helped rebuild.
Peeta sighed and went to the sink, shutting his eyes and taking the mirror down. His mother knew he hated the mirror being up but keep putting it up just to get on his nerves. He quickly got washed and dressed so that she didn't start having a go about how long he takes getting ready. There was always something for her to complain about, he didn't want to add that onto the list.
"You took the mirror down again!" His mother exclaimed when she went in.
"Just put it back up," he told her, shoving his art supplies into his book bag.
"I wouldn't have to put it back up if you didn't keep taking it down!"
Peeta rolled his eyes and decided it was best not to respond, instead just going down stairs into the bakery and grabbing a crossiant on the way out to eat on the way to school. Madge was already waiting for him outside the store, her back to the window as she read a book. "What are you reading now?" he asked her when he came out.
"The Eye of Minds," Madge answered, closing the book and slipping it into her bag. "I bought it thinking it wasn't part of a series so that I wouldn't get roped into another fandom but then I realized there's a sequel. The Rule of Thoughts is the next one. Isn't there any books out there that aren't part of an ongoing series?"
"If you don't want to get roped into another series, why don't you just stop?" Peeta asked. The streets were buzzing with life. Students going to school; adults going to work; cars racing down the road; birds chirping merrily from their hide outs in the trees. The sky was grey, a sign of rain, which pretty much matched Peeta's mood every morning. There hadn't been sunshine in ages and it was depressing to be trapped in darkness nearly every day.
"Because I have to know how it ends," Madge answered.
Peeta laughed. "That's how they get you," he said. "That's why I check if a book is part of a series or not."
"Yeah, okay, saint Mellark," Madge replied, bumping him with her hip. "Sorry I can't think ahead like you." She tapped his book bag with her elbow and asked, "So what are you working on now?"
"The human body," Peeta answered.
"Is that were you have to get a nude model in to stand in the middle of the room and pose while everyone else paints it?" Madge snickered, putting a hand over her mouth to try and smother her amusement.
"In some cases yes-"
Madge burst out laughing.
"Would you mature a little bit?" Peeta asked. Madge shook her head and continued to laugh, cackling for a good five minutes before taking deep breaths to calm herself down. When she finally stopped, she nodded her head in a keep going gesture. "We're not doing that because the college is too cheap to pay for a model."
"Wait, then how are you going to get your marks?" Madge frowned, suddenly serious.
Peeta shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I'm just trying to do what I can with what I know." They crossed the road and walked around the corner that lead to the college just as spots of rain started falling from the sky. Madge pulled her jacket over her head, the black material making her look like a nun going to church. Not really having thought to bring a jacket-even though it had been raining every day for the past two months-Peeta couldn't do anything but let himself get wet. Still, it wasn't that bad. It wasn't like he was going to melt anyhow.
"This place is a cheap hole," Madge complained as they went through the large iron gates and made their way across campus. "I can't believe they're risking your marks just because they can't be bothered to spend a little money on a model. Oh! I could do it for free, then they wouldn't have an excuse!"
"Madge, would you really pose nude in front of my entire art class?" Peeta asked flatly.
"Uh . . . Okay, change of plan," the girl replied, "I find someone who'll do it for free."
"Honestly, it doesn't matter," Peeta insisted.
"Your mother isn't going to be happy if you fail your class."
"My mother's never happy."
They parted ways in the foyer, Madge going up the stairs and Peeta just having to go up the corridor. There was a part of him that wished that Madge was in the same room as him, or even the same floor, because she was the only person who talked to him. On a normal level anyway. Ever since the accident, he could practically see the pity in everyone else's eyes, treating him like a piece of glass when they were talking that was going to smash him they say the wrong thing.
His art teacher was late again. Peeta couldn't believe how much this school didn't give a damn about their pupils. Sometimes he wondered if he would have been better off just working in the bakery instead of frittering away his time in a class where the teacher is always late and they won't pay for a model for an exam that will be 44% of their final mark.
Still, it was better that spending his time at home listening to his mother pick and peck at every little thing he did wrong.
He pulled his sketchpad out while they waited on the teacher coming, opening it to a fresh page and pulling his pencil out from behind his ear. He wasn't going to commit to drawing anything in perfect detail, since he didn't even know when the teacher was coming, so just mindlessly sketched out the giant window in the class room, drawing out the tidal wave of rain that was currently battering the glass.
When the teacher finally arrived, there was only half an hour left and decided that there was no point in starting anything. Everyone else was fine with it but Peeta had to grit his teeth to stop himself saying something about it that he'd regret later. The class was dismissed but he stayed behind, deciding that he might as well get something done because even though everyone else didn't care about their exams, he knew that he defnitely did. He stayed behind for another hour, touching up some of the work he already done and doing a new piece as well. Madge was right, if he failed this class, his mother was going to tear his head off his shoulders.
The rain started getting really heavy so he decided that he should get home before it got really bad. He put his stuff into his book bag and left, wishing he could stay in the comforting quiet of the room for a while longer, instead of going back to his pessemistic mother.
It was easier when his dad was here. When his brothers were here. When in their presence, his mother had always been happy. When their family was whole, his mother was always happiest. But they weren't whole. They were broken, pieces of them all scattered everywhere. Peeta and his mother were the only people from their original family set still in Panem. Mrs. Mellark always blamed him for what happened. Then again, in a way, he deserved the blame.
Peeta was so lost in his thoughts that he bumped into someone in the foyer. He dropped his bag and his stuff spilled out onto the floor. He inwardly cursed. Just his luck. Hopefully his work wasn't damaged.
"Oh god, sorry," the person he bumped into said.
Peeta shook his head, getting to his knees and gathering his stuff up. Nothing looked too damaged, thank goodness. His mother wasn't going to dish out for any more supplies. What he had was what he had to use. The person crouched beside him and handed him his sketchbook.
"Thanks," Peeta muttered, shoving it into his bag. He glanced up and paused. He didn't know this guy, he hadn't seen him around anywhere. Peeta sat back and frowned. It wasn't that he knew everyone who went to the college but he pretty much saw everyone around somewhere. But he didn't reconize this guy's fascinating green eyes or scruffy blond hair.
"I've seen you somewhere before," the stranger said, a calculating frown on his face as if he was trying to figure it out.
Peeta frowned. "I don't think so," he replied.
"No, not personally. You were in the paper last year or something," the stranger insisted. "Your father and brother were killed?"
Peeta's eyes widened, startled by the statement. Yes, there had been an article in the paper a couple of months ago about the accident and himself and his mother had been included, along with his older brother Wheat, as the only survivors. "Um, yeah," he muttered, standing up. "Sorry for bumping into you." He turned to walk away but the stranger grabbed his wrist and stopped him.
"Sorry, that was insensitive," he said. "I was just trying to place where I'd seen you before."
"Well, you know now," Peeta replied. He turned to leave again but the stranger wouldn't let go.
"I'm Cato," he said.
"Peeta."
"Nice to meet you, Peeta," Cato grinned.
"Er, you too." His fingers clutched the book bag strap so tight he could practically feel his knuckles turning white. "Um, can you . . . let go of my wrist, please?" Cato looked at Peeta's wrist, as if just realizing he was still holding onto him. He let go, almost reluctantly, and smiled sheepishly.
"Sorry," he said.
"It's fine." Peeta let go of his bag strap and wrapped his hand around his wrist, the skin Cato had been holding burning like it was on fire. He could hear the rain getting heavier outside and began to wonder how he was going to get home without catching a cold.
Cato stuffed his hands into his pockets, his face thoughtful. "What would you say if I told you that I saw you coming out of you the art room and walked into you on purpose just for an excuse to talk to you?"
Peeta wasn't sure what he'd say. "Uh . . . why?"
"I wanted a close look at those big blue eyes of yours," Cato answered. As if being true to his word, he leaned forward a little and stared right into Peeta's eyes. Peeta swallowed hard, trying to wet his suddenly dry throat, and smiled weakly.
"Was it worth it?" he joked.
"Every second." Cato smiled brightly and asked, "Can I have your number?"
"My what?" Peeta had heard him clearly but wasn't sure whether there was going to be a double or triple meaning to it that he didn't notice.
"Your number. You know, that someone might have for a mobile phone?" Cato prompted.
"Oh . . . I don't have a mobile." His mother gave him a choice between a mobile and his art supplies and, since he figured he'd never need a mobile since Madge was his only friend and she hated technology, he chose the art supplies. And he never considered that someone would purposely bump into him and then ask for his number. A number that he didn't have.
"You don't have a mobile?" Cato asked slowly, sounding surprised.
"Um, yeah?"
"What about a house phone?"
"Well, yes, I have one of those-"
"Okay then." Cato put his hand into his pocket and produced a small blank card. He reached out and took the pencil from behind Peeta's ear, his knuckles grazing his cheek as he did so. Peeta sucked in a nervous breath, touching the spot with his fingertips while Cato scribbled his own number down onto the card. "Then, you can call me." He held the card out to him and Peeta was slightly stunned for a moment before taking it. What the heck was happening right now?
"Why do you even want me to?" Peeta asked.
"Well, the social convention is that when someone asks you for their number, they are implying that they'd like to go on a date with you," Cato answered.
Peeta's eyes widened. "Oh, I don't date," he said.
"Oh, you don't, do you?"
"Well, no." He didn't believe in going on dates with other people. It seemed like a waste of time since dating just lead to attachment and attachment lead to something big like marriage or a family and Peeta couldn't bring himself to be close to people again. It hurt enough when his father and Rye had been killed, he didn't want to fall for someone and then something bad happen to them and force him to go through bereavement deal again.
"Take the number anyway."
"Thanks . . . I guess," he said. He supposed it was better this way. Since he had Cato's number, he'd just not call him. It was cruel but a coward's way out but he didn't want to persist in trying to convince him he didn't date. Cato grinned and slipped the pencil behind his ear again. Peeta nodded and started walking across the foyer to the exit, trying to sort out what had just happened into something that made sense.
"You better call soon, blue eyes!" Cato called.
Peeta found himself smiling. He quickly stopped though and went outside into the rain. The likihood of seeing Cato again if he didn't call him again was slim, so he didn't have to worry about explaining to him why he didn't call . . .
Two Days later:
Day Three:
He was thankful for the day off. It had been a long time since he's seen Wheat.
His mother didn't come with him, which he was thankful for. She didn't understand, she just spend her time nagging Wheat about how easy it should be for him to stop with the drugs. Peeta tried explaining to her that it wasn't as easy as that, especially when it came to a severe addiction, but she wouldn't hear of it.
Wheat was the same as usual, still suffering from the effects of cold turkey. He barely responded to Peeta as he spoke to him but Peeta kept going, knowing that if he gave up, it was like giving up on the only member of his family who didn't blame him for his dad and Rye's death.
Wheat was forcibly admitted into rehab two months ago, having turned to drugs to deal with the trauma of their dad and brother's deaths. Peeta wished he had noticed what his brother was going through sooner but, in his defense, he didn't know what the signs of drug addiction was.
When visiting hours were over, Peeta only had five minutes tfo catch the bus. It was his fault for the rush, since he liked to stay with Wheat until the very end of visting hours, soaking up whatever remained of his brother for as long as he could. He ran to the bustop, just about managing to catch it. He had to run two miles and was exhausted once he got on.
The seats were all taken up and he had came to the conclusion that he'd just have to stand before he noticed one seat left.
A seat beside Cato.
What were the odds that they'd be on the same bus on the same day?! Cato wasn't even paying attention to his surroundings, his eyes were closed and he had headphones on his ears. Maybe he'd fallen asleep? Peeta figured if he sat down quiet enough, he wouldn't disturb him and he wouldn't have to explain why he hadn't bothered to call yet.
Peeta eased himself into the seat beside Cato as quietly as possible, practically holding his breath so he didn't wake him up. He pulled his book bag around onto his lap and checked his watch. 4:30. So he'd get back into Panem city by 6:00. The long trip was what stopped him from going into the Capitol as often as he perferred. His mother would let him travel for an hour and a half there and back because apparently it was the scam the translink system tricked people with everyday.
"Well, if it isn't blue eyes."
Peeta jumped in surprise and looked at Cato in alarm. He was awake, those green eyes of his like two emerald jewels instead of pupils. "Um, hey Cato," he said sheepishly.
"What brings you to the Capitol?" Cato asked.
"Uh . . ." Visting my brother in rehab. "Just things . . . What about you?"
Cato shrugged. "Just visiting my mother," he said. "She lives out in the country. I've been on this bus for three hours now."
"Three hours?!" Peeta exclaimed.
"Yeah, I know," Cato replied, pulling the headphones off his ears so they hung around his neck. "So, were you planning to call or was I going to end up feeling like a fool for walking into the boy with the blue eyes by the end of the week?"
"I did tell you I don't date," Peeta pointed out.
Cato laughed. "That's true, but I was having a little faith that you'd call. And it's very likely that if you didn't call me, I'd have just waited for you everyday in the college."
"Isn't that a bit stalkerish?"
"I don't let what I want go very easily," Cato simply said. "And I'm a sucker for blue eyes." Peeta blushed and looked away, focusing his attention on fixing the clasp on his book bag. "Oh, and I never got to tell you the other day, your artwork is amazing."
"My . . . artwork?" Peeta frowned.
"Yeah, your artwork. I saw one of your paintings when your stuff fell out of your bag," Cato explained. "It was really good. Better than anyone else I've ever seen."
"It was just a painting. Wasn't even my best work . . ." Peeta frowned.
"Wow, if that wasn't your best work I'd love to see what is."
"Maybe I'll show you sometime, most of it is in the artroom."
Cato grinned. "I'd like that."
An hour and a half later:
"Are you following me?"
"Yup."
"Are you going to stop following me?"
"Probably not."
Peeta frowned and pulled his bag strap over his shoulder. "Why?" he asked. Cato shrugged, an easy smile engraved on his face.
"I want to come up with something poetic but all I can think of is that I want to know where you live," he said, walking up so he stood beside Peeta. "I mean, if you're not going to call me, I might as well try and find out where you live."
"Is that nessecary?" Peeta asked. "Why not just ask me?"
Cato's eyes somehow sparkled, even though the clouds were still grey and overcast. "Because this way I can be with you longer," he said. Peeta quirked a quizzical eyebrow and Cato had the decency to look a bit sheepish. "You're by far the most interesting enigma I have ever encountered."
"Enigma?"
"Yup. So, Peeta, where do you live?" Cato asked. The way he said his name sent a shiver down Peeta's spine and he shuddered.
"Above the bakery," he answered, unsure why he was telling Cato where he lived, like he trusted him not to be a creepy stalker.
It was in that moment that Madge appeared, her handbag bumping her hip as she came out of the newsagents across the road. "Oh, hey Peeta!" she called, hurrying across the road in her heels. She stopped at the curb when she noticed Cato standing there as well. "Whoa, hey . . . Peeta's friend."
"The name's Cato," Cato said, holding his hand out for Madge to shake.
"Madge Undersee," she answered, taking his hand and stepping up onto the curb. She looked at Peeta and mouth, 'Wow!' "So, how do you know my good pal Peeta here?"
"I was actually just about to ask him out tomorrow night," Cato answered. Peeta looked at him in alarm but didn't get a chance to reply because Madge squealed in excitement.
"Oh my god that's awesome!" she exclaimed. "You're going to say yes, right, Peeta?"
"Madge, I don't date-"
Madge rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous," she said. She turned to Cato and said, "That's his way of saying yes."
"It's really not-"
"Don't listen to him, he's being an idiot."
"Madge!"
Cato was holding in laughter, very likely enjoying the squabble between Peeta and his best friend. She was a scary girl, Madge was, if you got on the wrong side of her, and Peeta could sense that she was very close to smacking him for his adversion to dating. "Where do you want to meet him?" she asked.
"I was thinking maybe the Arena pub at around eight?" Cato said.
"He'll be there!" Madge said. She turned to Peeta and said, "We need to get you something to wear!"
"Madge, I don't think-"
"Come on!" She grabbed his wrist and started dragging him up the road to her house.
"See you tomorrow, blue eyes!" Cato called.
"Yes, sir, he will!" Madge laughed.
Day Four:
"I feel ridiculous."
Madge rolled her eyes. "You look sexy," she said.
"I don't feel it."
"You never feel it." Madge closed her wardrobe, revealing the mirror that took up the entire door. Peeta closed his eyes and yelped when Madge smacked him. "Stop being so dramatic," she said. "You don't look that bad. Open your eyes or I'll pry them open with a pair of plyers."
Peeta reluctantly cracked an eye open, seeing a duplicate version of himself doing the exact same thing in front of him. Madge had dressed him in her brother's clothes, the only problem being that her brother was two sizes smaller than him. He kept picking at the white t-shirt irritably, no matter how many times Madge batted his hands away.
"You know, you're going to thank me," she pointed out.
"Why in the world would I thank you?" Peeta asked.
"Because you're going have a brilliant time," Madge stated. "This guy must really like you because the Arena is one of the most expensive nightclubs out there. He's either loaded and can afford to spend his money away on first dates or he really wants to impress you."
"Well, it's not working."
"What's your problem?" Madge asked. "Ever since the accident you've been so closed off to everyone."
"There's a reason for that."
"When are you going to accept that that wasn't your fault?"
"Never. Because it was. I left the gas on, it was my fault the fire started, it's my fault they're dead," Peeta said grimly.
Madge sighed and put her hands on her hips. "You couldn't have known. You deserve to go out and enjoy yourself. Have some fun for once." She fixed his jacket and smiled. "Let go for a while. Oh, and you really need to quit with the 'I don't date' spiel, it's getting old."
"What? My entire moral system is getting old?" Peeta asked sarcastically.
Madge smirked. "I think it's about time your morals got dashed."
An hour later:
Arena Pub:
Peeta really didn't fit in here.
He couldn't find Cato so sat at the bar trying to blend in, not even bothering to order anything since he didn't drink alcohol and didn't want to seem like an idiot by asking for something non-alcoholic.
Eventually Cato arrived, pushing his way through the crowds of people to get there. "Oh my god, how long have you been here? Am I really late?" he asked in a rush.
"No, you're fine. I've only been here half an hour," Peeta replied.
Cato sat down beside him and said, "Honestly, I didn't think you'd come. Since it was your friend who roped you into it and all."
"I wouldn't stand you up," Peeta answered. "I'm not that horrible."
"Do you want something to drink?" Cato asked.
"No thanks, I don't drink."
Cato raised his eyebrows. "Seriously? You don't have a mobile, you don't date and you don't drink? What do you do, exactly?" he asked.
"I . . ." Peeta frowned, not knowing how to answer. What did he do? "I do my art," he finally settled with. "That's what I do. I don't need a phone or relationship or alcohol to have fun. In fact, no one does." Cato squinted at him, as if trying to see something that wasn't as easy to see as the rest of him. He asked for two beers from the bartender, which made Peeta laugh. "Are you going to drink two?" he asked.
"No, I'm going to have one and you're going to have the other," Cato said. When the drinks were put in front of them, Cato slid one to Peeta.
"Um . . . no thanks," he said.
"Go on," Cato teased, "live a little."
Peeta frowned, staring at the beer as if trying figure out what was in it. "I really shouldn't," he insisted. It was strange. Even though he was saying this, he had already reached out and picked up the bottle, examinging the contents carefully.
"Just one won't hurt," Cato pointed out.
Suddenly curious, Peeta popped the cap and took a cautious sip. The drink was bitter and he almost spat it out. "Oh god, that's disgusting!" he exclaimed.
Cato laughed. "You have to adjust to the taste," he said. "If you want, you can start off with something easier, like an alcopop or something. It's what underage drinkers normally start off with."
"No, I'm fine," Peeta said defiantly, not wanting to seem like a child who couldn't stomach beer. He took another sip and tried not to pull a face. Cato watched him with an amused smile and Peeta just knew that he knew he didn't like the taste at all but just wasn't bringing it up.
"So, how do you know that Madge girl and where do I send her the thank you card for getting you to come?" Cato asked.
"She's my best friend, we go to the college together," Peeta answered, putting the beer down and giving it the evil eye. "I do art and she does health and social care." He frowned. "I've never seen you there before, what do you do?"
"Biology," Cato answered. "It's normally out in one of the mobiles so I'm never in the main building very often." Okay, so that explained why he had never seen him before until they bumped into each other.
"What brought you to the main building the other day then?" Peeta asked.
"Our teacher was late and I was nominated to go and find him," Cato explained. "I mean, I got sidetracked when I saw you but that was my fault. Still, I eventually found him." His eyes drifted downwards and he smiled. "You look good, by the way."
Peeta blushed. "Just for the record, I don't dress like this," he quickly explained. "Madge told me to wear this."
"Another thing to add to the thank you card," Cato mused. "I didn't really picture you as a leather jacket sound of person anyway so I kind of thought someone had given you a hand."
Peeta shrugged. "I prefer cardigans," he admitted.
The date continued this way and Peeta learned a lot about Cato. He majored in Biology; he visited his mother in the Capitol every other week; his favourite colour was red; his full name was Catorie but he didn't let anyone call him that; he was bi-sexual and hated Valentine's Day as a holiday because it was just an excuse to get icky and lovey dovey in disgusting ways.
Even though Cato was quite open about himself, Peeta always treaded carefully over what he said to Cato. He answered the simple questions like his favourite colour and why he liked art but avoided stuff about his family and why he didn't like to date people or drink alcohol.
"Do you want to dance?" Cato asked after a while.
Peeta blinked. "Dance?" he asked faintly. "Um, I don't think so. I don't-"
"I swear, if you say, 'I don't dance', I'm going to explode," Cato said. He took Peeta's hands and pulled him off the seat. "Come on, it's not that bad." He took him to the middle of the dance floor and smiled brightly.
"Cato, I don't know about this," Peeta said awkwardly.
His date sighed and put his hands on his hips, pulling him closer to his body. "You think too much," he said. "You need to loosen up a little bit." Loosen up? Peeta didn't know the meaning of loosen up! Cato took Peeta's arms and put them around his neck, putting his hands back onto the younger boy's hips. He took Peeta's chin and pulled his face close, whispering, "Just let go."
It became clear that Cato wasn't a dancer. Peeta burst out laughing when the older boy showed him what he called, 'his winning move that always leave the ladies panting' which was basically dancing like a giraffe on meth. "Oh my god, if that leaves the ladies panting, I'd hate to see what happens when they see you do a salsa or tango!"
"Yeah, that's when they suffer spontaneous orgasms," Cato shrugged.
"Poor ladies, didn't know what hit them," Peeta sighed.
"It's a blessing and a curse," Cato admitted. Peeta shook his head and snickered, unable to stop laughing. "Are you laughing at me?"
"Oh no," Peeta replied, pretending to be serious. "I'm just in awe of your fantabulous dance moves."
"Yes, well, you should be," Cato said arrogantly, cracking his knuckles. Peeta laughed and covered his mouth with his hand, trying to muffle himself. Cato grinned at him and took his hand as a slow song started, pulling the younger boy toward him. Peeta went to him without complaint, feeling a pull like metal to magnet, and rested his head on Cato's chest when the older blond wound his arms around his waist.
They sort of swayed there for a bit, neither having anything to say and not wanting to break the comfort the slow paced song provided. Cato put his chin on Peeta's shoulder, his breath tickling his neck. Peeta inhaled, trying to keep himself in check. He had never really been around someone he genuninely liked before and everything that came to him as they stood there were things he'd never experienced or felt before.
"Why don't you date?" Cato murmured.
"It's unimportant," Peeta whispered back.
"Everything to do with you is important."
Peeta rolled his eyes. "I don't think so," he replied.
Cato's arms tightened around his waist, pulling his body closer to him. "You know, throughout this entire date, I've been feeling you've been hiding something from me. You dodged certain topics like they were bullets being fired at you."
"You know, there's a reason for that," Peeta muttered. He pulled back so he could look Cato in the eyes. Those beautiful green eyes . . . "Look, Cato, I don't want to get close to anyone. Because I . . . I can't. Not after my dad and brother died. If I get close to someone again, I'm just going to lose them, like I lost them. I don't want to go through that pain again."
Cato's expression was unreadable. "Peeta-"
"No, don't. I shouldn't even be here. It's why I don't date people. Because I know where it leads and it's somewhere I don't want to go," he said. Peeta stepped back, out of Cato's arms, and said, "I'm sorry." He walked away, trying to bite back tears.
"Peeta!" Cato called after him. Peeta shook his head and ignored him, walking out of the pub and back home.
God, he hated himself.
Day Five:
"I don't understand. What went wrong?"
Peeta shrugged. "I told him the truth," he said. "I just can't get close to someone right now. It's not far on him if I string him along with the belief that something can happen between us."
Madge sighed, putting her book down on the bakery window sill. "Peeta, you can't let David and Rye's deaths rule your life. It's not your fault," she said. "And neither is Wheat's addiction, might I add. No matter what your mother tells you. She's just trying to ruin your life because she's angry."
"Yeah, and she has every right to be."
"No, she doesn't! It wasn't your fault goddamn it!" Madge snapped.
"Nothing you're ever going to say is going to convince me, you know that, right?" Peeta asked her. Madge grunted in frustration and swiped her book off the sill, the novel landing on the floor with a bang.
"I give up!" she exclaimed. "You're not the Peeta I used to know!"
Madge picked up her book and left the bakery angrily, slamming the door behind her. Peeta sighed, his eyes following his friend as she stormed across the road, before whispering, "He died a long time ago."
Day Six:
Peeta shouldered his bag, pushing through the doors of the college with a sigh. Madge didn't come to the bakery that morning, so he presumed their friendship was over. It was his fault, he knew it, but he couldn't move on so easily from the death of his father and Rye like people keep telling him to do. Even Madge, who he had always thought understood, had finally cracked.
When he entered the college, he noticed people were running to the hall where the assemblies were normally held. Weird, there wasn't normally an assembly on a Monday. Peeta followed them, curious, and found that, once he reached the hall, it wasn't the college director talking to everyone.
It was . . . Cato?
"You see," Cato said to the crowd confidently, a microphone held to his lips so his voice boomed across the hall. "There's this boy. I only met him at the beginning of the week and yet I think I'm already smitten. The only problem is, he's very complex and hard to read. He has these mood swings that could give a pregnant woman a run for her money and you think he's thinking one thing but he's actually thinking another. And he says he doesn't want a relationship."
A girl-Madge?!-came up behind him and asked, "Wait Cato, if he doesn't want a relationship, why don't you just leave him alone?" in a theatrical voice.
Cato glanced up, his eyes locking with Peeta's. "Because I can't let him go," he said. "He's everything I've ever wanted. No . . . not wanted. Needed. He's beautiful, smart, he makes me laugh . . . and made me cry once."
"Cry?" Madge asked, still with the theatrics. "When?"
"Two nights ago, he shared something with me, something I should have considered before I tried making a move and it broke my heart," Cato explained. "There's this thing, something my friend Madge here tells me that you all treat him differently because of. And I don't mean to sound rude but you're all kind of a pack of dicks for doing that.
"But I'm not going to talk about that. I'm just trying to say that I think I've fallen in love and it's only been one week. If a boy can make me fall in love within only six days then I'm going to try pretty damn hard to keep a hold of him. And I don't care about baggage, I've got enough of that myself. In fact, I think I'd make a pretty good bag carrier. If he'd let me, that is." Cato tried to smile weakly at Peeta and shrugged, "Will you let me, Peeta?"
All eyes turned him and Peeta swallowed. He hadn't been aware that he was crying until now. And he quickly rubbed the tears away. He couldn't help smiling.
"You see, Peeta," Cato said, jumping off the stage and walking towards him. "You're scared of losing me, like you've lost others. But what if I said that I'm not going anywhere? Now that you've found me, there's no getting rid of me?"
He didn't know what he'd say . . .
Cato stopped when he stood a couple of inches away from him. "Peeta, honestly, I'm not going anywhere," he said.
"Cato, I don't know," Peeta said quietly.
"But I do," Cato said. He cupped the younger boy's cheek and gazed at him intently. "All I wanted was to see those beautiful blue eyes."
"Cato . . ."
"I'm serious," Cato said. "I know times are tough but I can help you get through it, if you'll let me."
"Everything's just so difficult right now," Peeta whispered.
Cato smiled. "I know," he said. He leaned forward and kissed him. Peeta didn't hesitate before kissing him back, his eyes falling shut and his hands coming up to rest on his face. The kiss was everything it should be, warm and comforting. It send a chill down his spine. It promised that Cato was telling the truth, that he would never lie, and that he meant every single word. He vaguely heard clapping-probably from everyone in the hall-but it felt distant.
When they parted, Cato pressed his forehead against Peeta's. "You know," Peeta whispered, "I don't kiss."
Cato laughed. "I think we'll make it work."
A/N: Cheesy? Yeah, I know. But I wanted to write something for Valentine's day that wasn't an 'M' and all this came out (:
Please R&R!