A/N: Gah! I'm a horrible person! I'm in the middle of a bunch of good ole HMC lovin' and I just HAD to read a Hunger Games fanfic last night and now this stupid idea has been skipping around in my head. So here we go: a drabble about Katniss and Peeta post MockingJay. Spoiler alert: you have been warned!
Disclaimer: I own squat.
Theme: (cuz I got the idea from one of the themes that's later to come for my HMC 100 challenge) Magic
I remember a week before school started when my dad took me to the market at the center of town. I was in awe. Even though it was still part of District 12, it was so different from the Seam. Every now and again my dad would catch me staring at someone who was actually…chubby. My little hand in my dad's large, rough, and warm one, we walked through the center of town amongst all the bustling folks. My dad would nod or tip his hat at a familiar face. The real reason why we were in town was so that my dad could get another used pair of shoes. New ones were too expensive. But the ones that were currently on his feet didn't do him much good. The laces were scorched and nibbled, and there wasn't even a sole left to protect the bottoms of his feet.
Walking home, we went down a different road. I was window gazing, as any awestruck five year old would do, and one particular window display caught my eye. I stopped walking and my dad turned around to see that the little hand he had been holding all day wasn't moving forward anymore.
It smelled so delicious. I couldn't help myself. Could you really blame me? Warm, comforting, doughy, spicy, soft, mouth-watering heaven. Especially f you're a starving kid from the Seam. In the widow was a ginger bread house, laced with perfect white frosting to define the windows and doors. Other breads and cakes lined the window, so many different types that I didn't even know the name of. That I didn't even know could exist.
A big man with a jolly round stomach and a white apron and baker's hat came to the window. He smiled down at me; I didn't know what to do. I looked to my dad for moral support. He picked me up at waved in acknowledgement to the baker. We turned to head home.
"Everdeen, hold on a minute," came the baker's voice from behind us. Slowly Dad turned us around and we watched the baker zip back into his shop, and come out a second later with a package in his hand. Walking up towards us, he handed it to me.
"Mellark, we can't. We don't have the money to pay," my dad said. Mr. Mellark waved away my dad's remark.
"I don't want you to have to pay. It's on me. Here, take it little one, before my wife comes out and sees me," he said, winking at me as he slipped the package into my confused hands. He walked back towards his shop.
"I'm in your debt, Mellark!" my dad called after him. Mr. Mellark walked back to his bakery pretending to have not heard a thing.
I thought I was going to die when I walked back into the house. My house? …Home? No, this place wasn't my home. It would take much more time before it became that. But as I walked in, my bow and arrows slung over my shoulder and some pheasants in my hands, I knew that Peeta was in the kitchen, working his magic. I stopped in the hall before entering Peeta's sacred haven. Just to smell everything. The yeast rising, the warmth tingling my nose, the cinnamon and nutmeg teasing my taste buds.
"Katniss?" his soft voice pulled me back to reality. My eyes flashed open. How had he gotten so close without me noticing? How had I not heard him? I caught a glimpse of his eyes. They looked worried. Of course they did, I was frozen in the middle of the hall with my eyes closed sniffing the air like a hound dog.
"It smells good," I said. I walked into the kitchen and set my things down. I focused on plucking the pheasants, embarrassed by my entrance. We were silent for the rest of the evening. We danced around each other in the kitchen, avoiding one another as I prepared the meat and he prepared the bread. I snuck glances at him all throughout dinner. If one of us caught the other stealing side glances, we'd shy away and look around the room nervously like a couple of elementary crushes. I got up, took my plate and then got his to clean. I could feel his eyes on my back as I turned the tap water on and scrubbed the plates.
"Here," I heard him say. He was standing right behind me, towel in hand, reaching for the plate I had just finished rinsing.
"Thanks," was all the reply I could muster. Why was I acting like this? Since when was I nervous around Peeta? It wasn't the nervousness that he might have a hijacking episode at any moment, I knew that I could help him out of those and that I would never be in danger with him. So, what was it?
"Katniss?" I turned to meet his loving eyes clouded with worry as he looked down at me.
"I'm fine. Don't look so worried." He was not convinced. "Your bread tasted great tonight. Did you add something to it? A little extra allspice or something?" I couldn't look at him. I had to channel all my focus on the running water, the scrubber, my hand, and the plate. But then I felt his hand lightly brush aside a stray piece of hair. I abruptly turned off the water and left the plate in the sink.
"Cinnamon actually. To give it some extra warmth." And that was it. He worked his magic.
His lips were on mine before I could blink, but I was not about to protest. A dash of delicacy, a pinch of passion, a spoonful of softness, and an extra loving heaping of complete and total Peeta.
A/N: don't hurt me! *runs and hides under her covers* it's fluffy! so fluffy!