A/N: It's been a long time since I've attempted an AU fanfiction so I hope this one does our characters justice. I've never been a huge fan of trying to come up with my own world, which is why I'm not a writer yet, but I'm gonna try now. I hope you enjoy. If you like Hunger Games fanfictions, please make sure to follow me. I have two going right now and one on hiatus while I try to catch up on other works. Also follow me on tumblr at .com .
Enjoy your day!
~B
This is a part of an unassociated series of AU's based on the names of songs by the band Daughter, off their EP Wild Youth. Please read all of them! They're not universal, so they won't take place at the same time or even within the same universe! Thanks for reading. Love you!
Chapter One: Falling
It's evening now, the sun setting over the ocean, our house shining in the golden light being cast over the horizon. I pull up, my pick up truck humming loudly. It was a harsh winter, and my engine paid the price for it. I sat, letting it idle for a few more minutes, and looked at my home. It overlooked the Atlantic, sat at the edge of a tiny town in Maine, about two and a half hours outside of Portland. I close my eyes and listen to the seagulls buzzing their wild cries over the water, the sound of the ocean hitting the rock wall that my house is sat above. There's a pressure building in my head, and I can feel the headache before it's going to hit. It signals that it's time to go inside. There has to be remedies taken; it's my anniversary. Our anniversary.
I open the door, stepping out onto the wide road. It's cool out, the fresh spring air whipping past me, spraying me with salty air. I fall in love with this place over and over again, every day. It makes my heart surge and my face feel hot, even with the cool wind pressing against it. It's a place where I feel at home.
The grass in the garden is lush and green, needs to be mowed. There are early spring flowers blooming, lining the pathway to my doorway with bright yellows and greens and pinks. I've never been one for bright colors or flowers, but the primroses that sit on either side of the step leave me breathless when they bloom. The house is a one story cottage style house, yellow walls and bright white trim, faded from years of being by the sea. It was a spur of the moment purchase, one we could barely afford, but one I needed. I had to get away. To be close to Prim. My sister.
As I unlock the door, my sisters cat comes prowling towards me, whining. I think he's hungry. I hate this cat. It's an ugly thing, with a squished face and a crooked tail. Its hair is matted in places where I can't get to with scissors or a brush, for fear of being bit. But I care for him nonetheless, because for reasons I can't fathom, Prim seems to love him. I open the door for him and wait. He sits on the stone step leading into the house, staring at me. It almost feels menacing. Slowly, slowly, he makes his way inside, brushing past me and yowling. I shut the door, plunging the entry hall into darkness. This is how I like the house; dark, quiet, lonely. I grew up alone; I even miss the feeling of it sometimes, the stillness that it comes with. Gale is so full of words. He makes up for my lack of them, with his wide smile and hard, loud laugh. There's an eagerness to his words that excites me.
I make my way to the bedroom, a stark room with white walls and pine fixtures, green and blue accents. My dresser stands inside the closet, a small walk-in with slim double doors. On top are the pain-relievers I have desperately needed since getting off work. The sky is beginning to darken. My boss - and best friend - invited us over for dinner, to celebrate the ten years Gale and I have been together. Gale seemed uneasy, but Gale always seems uneasy about Peeta. It was a male thing, I was sure of it, or a boyfriend versus best friend competitive rivalry. I wasn't going to make a deal out of it as long as Gale didn't. I don't have anything to hide. He knows everything. I look at the clock: 5:45 pm. Gale said this morning as I was running out the door that he'd be home at six. I still need to shower, I smell like sugar and yeast and sweat from my last minute shift at the range this morning. Time seems to pass different when I'm alone. Faster, more consuming the hours I have left before I'm surrounded by people - customers, students, friends, and Gale. My towel is still damp from the shower I took this morning. Ignoring it, it turn the water on hot, so steam billows off the spray as I get undressed. The humidity, for once, feels good against my dry skin. The winter was abrasive, harsh, the icy wind burning my cheeks and the backs of my exposed hands if I taught at all. I step into the hot spray, yelp as it touches my skin and leap back, turning the knob towards the cool water. The water gets icy and then warm again as I adjust it and step back into the spray. I scrub my skin with the thick bristled brush and a washcloth, wash my hair and condition the ends. Gale comes home as I turn the water on. He knocks on the door.
"Come in," I say quietly. The door opens a crack, and he sticks his head in. "Hi." I say, pressing the towel to my skin. Its dampness of it presents an issue in the warm stickiness of the room. He tilts his head a little, trying to catch a glimpse of me, but I chastely hide behind my towel, waving him away. "What do you want?"
"When's dinner?" he asks, opening the door all the way and leaning against the doorway. "And where?"
"Peeta's and at seven thirty." I reply, pulling the towel off of me to dry my hair. He stares at me. "Peeta's house, he's hosting dinner. I told you last week." He nods.
"Right." there's a hint of anger in his voice, and something indefinable. As if he's holding back. "Do you wanna walk or drive?" he isn't looking at me now. His voice is low and cold. I roll my eyes and wrap my towel around my body.
"Will walking give you enough time to finish sulking?" I ask, stepping past him. I pad down the hall back to my bedroom, stepping into the walk in and closing the door. There's a light switch but I don't want it. Being alone in the dark, away from him, is perfect. He leaves me alone when I go in here. I get peace.
"Katniss, please don't go in the closet." he says, chuckling. "I need you out here, we should talk about this."
"He's been with Madge for three years, Gale." I say, whipping the door open. "We've been together for ten. What is your issue?" I'm angry, but I can't tell why. Maybe I've had enough of his sulking. Maybe I'm just tired.
"I don't have one, babe, please don't do this." he walks towards me, and I sigh, lowering my eyes.
"Fine. I'm sorry." I say quietly. This has become pattern, typical, regular with us. He sulks, I relent. It's become normal. I'm tired, so tired of normal, complacency. I turn around and start to dress; jeans, a blouse, no jewelry, no makeup, flats. I turn the light off and step out of the closet, back into my main bedroom. Gale's disappeared into the bathroom, humming to himself. I sit on the bed, pulling my phone out of my purse, which I'd laid here earlier. There's one text: Peeta.
Peeta, 5:38: Hey, dinner tonight, still? :)
I ponder the text for a moment, wondering if I should cancel, take Gale to our favorite Italian restaurant, forget we had these plans in the first place. Would that make him happy? Would that make me happy? I shake my head. I won't give in to him today, I won't be the one to suggest it. He'd have to be an adult, bring it up on his own. I was tired of doing it all for him. There comes a point when you can't.
Katniss, 6:16 Yeah, when? :)
I set my phone down as Gale walks back into the room. He pauses, then shakes his head. A smile flashes, but it's unsettling.
"It's just, I thought we talked about not going." says Gale. I fall back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. He walks to me and settles between my legs, pressing his hands to my hips. I squirm for a second, then look at him with narrowed eyes, my own hands on his wrists. He presses against me and I pull up on his wrists.
"Don't, Gale." I spit. He lets me go and steps back. There's a wild look in his eyes, almost feral. My heart sinks. "Please, can we just go? I already confirmed."
"So he texts you outside of work now too?" Gale says, voice hard. I sit up, staring at him. I feel like crying, but no tears will come. There's just a lump in my throat, and my lip quivers. "I'm sorry. You know how I-"
"We're friends. We've been friends for years. But I've been with you longer." I say.
"I know, it's just-"
"Gale." My throat hurts when I try to push his name out. "I'm with you. I'm sorry for what happened, but I'm with you. I chose you. I choose you every day." He purses his lips, putting out one of his hands, palm up: our universal sign of surrender. I nod, which he takes to come closer. His weight next to me bounces me slightly, and I giggle. He wraps his arms around me and presses his face into my neck.
"I can't lose you." This makes me sigh, but not in gratitude or satisfaction. I'm hurt. This hurts every time to hear, that I am so important that he couldn't stand to lose me. It's a pressure I can't stand, because I can't live up to it. No matter how much he says he loves me, the confidence this statement brings me is minimal. It lowers my confidence. Makes me immune to the other, horrible things he can say. "I love you," he whispers. I'm unconvinced. I nod.
"Let's go. We can walk." I say. I pull my windbreaker down from the hook on the back of the door. I can hear him get up, hear his work boots on the hardwood. I turn towards him as I open the door. "Please?" I say, almost simpering. I don't do this, I'm not this person, but I want him to be pleasant. He nods and brings his own coat down, throwing it on and proceeding out the door in front of me. We make it outside, onto the street, when he stops and turns to me. He shakes his head and starts forward again, but I stay rooted to the spot on the sidewalk, waiting. Normal - complacent.
"You just, you don't get it." he says finally, spinning around about fifteen feet from me. His voice is raised. I look down our hill - no one's out of their houses, not at this time of night, in a town this small. So I stare at him, and I wait. I wait for the explosion. "There's not a second in the day that I don't think about the two of you together, in my kitchen."
"It's not your kitchen, Gale." I say, cooly. He ignores me. "We just-"
"His hands, on you, Katniss. Do you know what that image does to me? It haunts me every day, I can't unsee it." He pauses, taking a deep breath. "I don't know why you even told me. I would've been better off oblivious."
It is exhausting to talk to him like this. I turn and start back up the walkway, towards the front door.
"Where are you going?" he says.
"I forgot my phone, and the wine." I reply. It takes me a second, but I get the door unlocked and slip inside. It's quiet again, empty again. I'm at ease again. I just needed to calm down. I need peace. Silence. His voice, so loud, echoing down the street for anyone to hear, rings in my empty head. I stand in the doorway, breathing slowly, looking at the paintings we have on the walls: Peeta's paintings. They're beautiful paintings - intricate mountain ranges taken from pictures in the forest, delicate flowers. A garden of succulents. I pull my phone, which I hadn't forgotten at all, out of my pocket as I step into the kitchen. The bottle of wine sits on the counter, the bow still around it. I have one text.
Peeta, 6:31: You can come over now? Help is always welcome in my kitchen. Just an update though, Madge got called to the hospital.
Katniss, 6:49: Oh, no. Okay, soon! :)
I know I should cancel. It would make Gale happy. It would make dinner easier if it wasn't just the three of us. The front door creaks open behind me. I put my phone back in my pocket and grab the wine.
"Madge got called to the hospital." I say.
"Oh, no." replies Gale. "Did Peeta cancel?"
"No." my tone is clipped, I still face away from Gale. My eyes are closed and my fingers are wrapped so my knuckles are white against the neck of the wine bottle. "No, he just wanted to let me know." I know I should cancel. I can feel Gale's tension growing, a fight about to start. I never should have told him.
"Ah," says Gale. "Well, we should cancel, just to make the night easier on him. It wouldn't be much fun without Madge anyways, right?" His calculating tone is telling me to agree. I shake my head.
"Gale, we already said we would go. It's too late to get a reservation anywhere." I can hear him step into the kitchen, and my hands tighten again on the wine bottle. The last thing I am is afraid of Gale. But he's pressing buttons that he never presses, and my heart is going to beat straight out of my chest from anger. "I want to go." I pick up the bottle and transfer it to my other hand, holding it out towards him. "For me?" I say, cocking my head to one side. His eyes narrow.
"No." he says. "Cancel. I don't want to go out, not if we have to be around him." My head jerks back a little, a frown forming in what could almost be construed as surprise, but feels more like disgust. I look away from him, to the floor, the sink, the ceiling, anywhere but where he stands, arms crossed. I set the wine gently on the counter and pull out my phone.
"You tell him." I say, opening Peeta's contact. "You tell him, and make sure you tell him why." I go to leave then pause, handing him my phone. "Do you want me to stop being friends with him too? Do you need that much control?" I step quietly - I've never been one for stomping - into my bedroom, and close the door behind me. I don't slam it, I won't be childish. I won't be Gale. My heart is racing, thoughts are swirling at dizzying speed through my head. I can't pick one out from the other, except the one in the back that whispers 'leave him'. I hadn't considered it for a long time. Especially not after what happened with Peeta. The guilt that spread through my body from one kiss had been so much that I hadn't been able to control my tongue when it became loose after a night of drinking. I lean back against the door, listening to Gale pace in the kitchen. There were words being spoken but I couldn't make them out. I don't want to. There's something soothing about knowing you can't hear what's being said, but also anxiety inducing when the words could be detrimental to you job, your life, your livelihood… your relationship. I look down at my hand. Ten years.
Gale had proposed twice; once, in the car on the way to work at the range, the other in a small coffee shop during a weekend trip we took to celebrate making it through ten years as adults. I'd said yes the second time. The small diamond sparkled on my ring finger, but the ring was a little loose. We'd never gotten it fitted. Maybe we both knew from the start. I take it off and lay it on his dresser. I am tired, I can feel it in my bones. There is a weight inside of me that won't be released by waiting around for him to grow up or find forgiveness. My mistake is too much for me to bear, too much for him to bear. I wonder if Madge knows. I wonder if that's why she took the call, why she left on her one of very few nights off, why she hasn't talked to me in weeks. I wonder all of this and grow agitated. Peeta wouldn't do that to me. Would he? I look at the ring again, now that it's off my finger and on the dresser, about at eye level. It's beautiful ring, the diamond small and round, a few small diamonds on the band. It's beautiful, and I hate it. I hate what it means, why it exists, why it's off my finger and on his dresser and why I will never get married to this man. It crushes me, especially when I think about the friendship I shared with Gale before love messed it all up. It crushes me when I think about how much I loved him even a year ago, before the paranoia and the yelling and the breaking things showed up, before I kissed my best friend in our kitchen.
But it is exhausting. Promises from me are few and far between. I know I'm the bad guy. I know this, and I acknowledge it every day to him and it becomes exhausting. I move to my closet, where I have the duffle bag I use for the gym and to visit Prim, and empty my gym clothes out of it. I open my dresser and pull out shirts and socks and underwear and pants and throw them haphazardly into the bag, where my extra charger and headphones already lay at the bottom. My wallet is in my pocket, my keys in my jacket, my phone with Gale. His heavy work boots stomp down the hall, and he throws open the bedroom door with a sense of triumph.
"We're all cancelled babe, and it's only seven, where do you wanna go?" I can hear the thump of my phone on the bed and exit, duffle in hand. He looks at me with surprise.
"I can't… do this." I say, pulling my sneakers towards me with the toe of my already shoe clad foot. He looks confused for a moment, then laughs, then frowns and looks at his dresser. My engagement ring lays sparkling on the top.
"You… what?" his voice has a nervous edge to it, as if he's going to laugh but can't. "Can't do what, Catnip?"
I wince at the sound of my nickname, recalling days of ease and happiness. "I can't stay. I'm sorry, I should've left a long time ago, before…" His scowl deepens. "I have to go." I say.
"When will you be back?" he asks, voice pained.
"I don't know." I murmur, avoiding his gaze.
"Are you going to... to him?" I shake my head, lifting my eyes to the ceiling, almost laughing in my anger.
"If you don't understand that... that is exactly what this is about, then I'm making the right choice in leaving." I move towards the bed, grab my phone, and rush past him, out of the house, and into the evening air, closing the front door behind me. It's cool and quiet out here, crickets chirping slowly. The salty air stings my eyes, which are filling with tears now. I make it to the car just in time to throw my bag in and begin to sob against the steering wheel; odd, for me. Crying makes me feel weak, vulnerable. I've been doing it a lot more lately. Am I pregnant? I ask myself, but shake my head. My period ended a week ago. I wipe my eyes on the back of my jacket sleeve; it scratches, but it gets the job done. I start the car. The curtain rustles in the living room; Gale is watching to see if I leave. I am, I'm leaving, I'm pressing my foot on the gas and heading up the road to the cul de sac where I can turn around and drive too fast down the hill in my beat up pick up truck.
And I do, I do exactly that. I crest the hill and I feel like I'm floating, like I could fly. At the bottom of the hill is a stop light, leading to the center part of town and back through to the residential area not facing the coast. I have to go through the city to get to the freeway, to make the two and a half hour drive to Prim's, but my heart is racing out of my chest and my hands are shaking and I feel like I can't breathe. I drive as far as I can and pull over, killing the engine. I pull my phone out of my pocket. There are three missed calls from Gale and a text from Peeta. I open the text first.
Peeta, 7:00 - Gale cancelled? Do you know…? :(
I ignore it, go to my missed calls, and shake my head. There's no voicemails. I scroll down to find one from Prim, press call, and press the phone to my ear. It rings. And rings. And just as I'm about to put the phone down, she picks up.
"Katniss, what's wrong?" and I'm sobbing. Deep, drawing breaths stabbing my lungs and I look around. I'm already on Peeta's street, without even meaning to, I came here. Something drew me here - he drew me here. "Oh, babe."
"I left." I splutter. I move my phone to my left hand and start the car, moving the car carefully into the street before I wipe my eyes with the heel of my hand, moving at a snail's pace to keep from missing his house. "I just left. I just, I couldn't, I don't-"
Prim stops me, and I can hear how carefully she chooses her next words. "Did he… He didn't hurt you, right?"
"No," I laugh now, a shaky laugh, one that clings to the walls of my throat. I see it now, his house. It's short and wide, with a beautifully manicured long and the Drapeau du Panem, or the Flag of Panem, where he's from. I park carefully in front of his house, leaving my engine running, in case I change my mind. I press my forehead against the steering wheel. "No, nothing like that. I'm just…"
"I know." says Prim. "I'm proud of you." I sniff and then jump at the sound of a knocking on my window. I reach over and roll the window down manually, with the crank handle that no one knows how to replace when it breaks but Gale. He reaches in, taking my other free hand. I hold out one finger, but just look at him.
"Thank you," I say to Prim, but look into his eyes. He reads it and smiles, nodding just ever so slightly. "I have to go."
"Are you coming over?"
"Yes, absolutely. I'll text you when I'm on my way. I have to talk to Peeta first."
There's a note of caution in Prim's voice when she replies. "I love you, but please don't do anything stupid. Please, for me." I pause. Peeta's hand is warm in mine, his thumb rubbing long, gentle circles on the back of it; he watches me with a reverence that goes unmatched. I close my eyes. I'm overwhelmed. I can't feel anything, I'm numb.
"Okay." I say. "I love you, too, Prim." There's a long pause, then a slow goodbye before she ends the call. I press my forehead to the hand Peeta has clasped, and begin to sob again. He presses his hand to my head, running his fingers through my still wet hair. It tangles and catches, but he gently moves through them. It's familiar.
"What happened?" Peeta asks after a long silence. I realize I just showed up, tearful, with no explanation. I lift my head and look at him.
"Can I come inside?" I ask. He nods, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand before pulling his own away. "It'll be a second."
"Take your time. I'm still making pasta, so some should be ready soon." He pauses, stepping back towards his house, then bends over and looks back through my window, from father away this time. "Madge won't be home tonight. She said she won't be back till late morning." I nod, pressing my phone back into my pocket while I kill the engine. I hear his front door close, then reach over to roll up the window.
It takes me a few more moments before I finally find the energy to pull myself out of the truck. Night had fallen quickly, an expanse of dark blue and glimmering stars cascading overhead. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the curtain to his living room flick and I know he's waiting for me by the door. A smile pushed its way onto my face unintentionally, and rub my lips in a vain attempt to subside it. Now was no time to be happy, or selfish; not when my whole world had just fallen apart. I make my way up Peeta's stone path, then put hand around the doorknob of his front door and turn it, pushing it open slowly. The sounds of Peeta clattering around in the kitchen set me on guard; warm smells of bread and the sticky heat of an oven coated my skin like sweat. My heart hammers in my chest as I close the door behind me and make my way to the kitchen.
Peeta turned when he hears my footsteps, hands covered in dough, navy shirt speckled with flour. My heart continued to thrum manically in my chest, setting tremors over my hands and turning my legs to jelly. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, a curious look overtaking his features.
"What happened?" He asks softly after a silence that felt like it could've lasted forever.
"He wouldn't drop it." I mutter. "I told him. And he won't let it go." My face flushes - I could feel the heat rising up my neck and burn into my face.
"When did you tell him?" He asks. He looks almost disappointed. My heart drops, It stings like a bullet wound to see his face turn away, his eyes drop.
"A few months ago." I respond, my shoulders slumped. "I couldn't help it. It ended up meaning more than it…" she trailed off.
"Than it should have?" His eyes wander to and then from my face again.
"Yeah." I whisper. Peeta turns to the sink, turning the tap on and washing his hands for too long. I can tell by his harried breathing that my words had struck a chord with him. Maybe he felt the same. Maybe they'd hurt him. I hadn't meant to, had never meant to hurt him. He turns, drying his hands on the same towel he has hanging from his apron. His eyes are closed, but when he opens them, he frowns a little.
"It did for me-" his voice cracks, and I can see his composure starting to break, "for me, it meant…" He pauses again, clearing his throat. "It meant a lot, Katniss." I nod. "I hope you didn't come here to-"
And I'm kissing him. There is an energy inside me now, though I don't know from where, and it's thrown me against Peeta; I press my mouth to his, and for a moment, there's a bubble of his arms and lips and tongue, and then it's over. He's turned away, back to the sink. There's something different, the air is heavy. He's crying. I can hear it in the way he sniffs between every other breath. I reach forward, pressing my hand into his back, and am relieved when he doesn't pull away.
"I came here because I feel safe here." I say. He looks at me over his shoulder, his eyes red rimmed and glassy with tears. "I came here because this is where I… ended up. Because this is where my gut lead me. To you." I stumble over my words, I'm not good at them. It's why I don't speak in public, why I have my classes outdoors, no lecture. I've never been good at words. He closes his eyes and turns, grabbing my hand before it can fall back towards my side. It's a moment, a moment where the world has stopped turning, where the sea has stopped crashing against the rocks, where the moon shines so bright it blinds; a moment of incredulity, where I stop wondering what's going to happen; Peeta's deep blue eyes meet my own silvery grey ones, and all of these moments happen at once. He pulls me close to his chest, pressing me into his warmth. I giggle. "If you get me covered in flour, Peeta, I swear to god."
Peeta reaches over to his flour pile, picks up a handful, and drops it on my head.
A/N: I have this story pretty hashed out in terms of where the next two chapters are going. It may not be very long, but I hope you enjoyed the first chapter!
PLEASE let me know if you find any tense errors, I had to change this from third person to first person in a very tedious manner, but I did my best. Review, favorite, follow so you never miss an update.
~B