Real Estate Finance was not supposed to have been this much of a pain in the ass. She was an engineering major, after all, and her required courses were brutal enough without having to deal with all this work for an elective. She'd originally chosen it with the idea that it might give her a leg up in her job search now that she was a senior — she'd figured it would show that she had some sense of the business side of things, since her area was civil and environmental engineering. Plus, she was really good at math, and wasn't that what finance was all about anyway? She'd been sure she would leave all the business majors in the dust, since they seemed to mostly view math as something to be avoided as much as possible.

What she hadn't bargained for was a group project that accounted for 50% of her final grade. She hated working with other people to begin with, but at least in her engineering classes, the professors allowed them to choose their own partners, and she always worked with Gale. They had a system — they split up all the tasks and then pretty much worked separately before putting it all together in the end. She always knew she could count on him to produce good work, and the process was always seamless.

Now, however, she's going to be stuck in a group of Professor Heavensbee's choosing. And each group is going to have at least four people. She's really not sure how she's going to survive this.

As she opens the spreadsheet showing their assignments, she sees that her name is at the top of the list for Group 2. And then her eyes skip over the next two names to the fourth, and last, in the list. Oh no, she thinks. Not him.

Peeta Mellark had been her TA in the introductory drawing class she'd taken in the second semester of her first year, when her advisor had insisted that she take an arts elective, reasoning that if she didn't take at least one class that was totally unrelated to her required engineering courses, she'd burn out. Gale had chosen the drawing class and convinced her to take it with him, and she'd figured that she'd rather be in a class with him than one in which she knew no one.

But it had been awful. She'd been reasonably okay when they'd started with basic 3-dimensional shapes and even when they'd moved on to still lifes with apples and pitchers and such. And she'd (mostly) been able to ignore the solicitousness of their TA, and his perfectly rumpled blond curls, and the deep warmth of his voice when he'd look over her shoulder and say "That looks great, Katniss."

But then they'd moved on to drawing people, and people were just a different story altogether. Faces were impossible. And then the nudes — the nudes were even worse, of course — she just hadn't been able to view their bodies abstractly enough to translate them to paper. When Peeta had come around and found her paralyzed — well, two years later, she still cringes at the memory. With him right next to her, she hadn't been able to bring herself to look at the nude model in front of them — but then when she'd tried to look at Peeta's face as he'd talked to her, that had been even worse than staring at a naked body.

So she'd looked down at her hands, and even though she'd desperately tried to concentrate on what he was saying, she just hadn't been able to. And when he'd finished talking, she'd just mumbled "Ok, thanks," or perhaps even just nodded, and then waited for him to move on to the next person.

And for the rest of the semester, that's how it had remained between them. She'd wanted to change it, to just be normal around him, but she hadn't been able to, hadn't even been able to look at him. And although he'd remained kind whenever he'd spoken to her, he'd also been rather reserved and ill at ease, while with everyone else, even the shy and quiet ones — and even Gale, who always sat right next to her — he'd been warm and affable. This, she'd told herself, this was the effect she had on people.

And now she's being forced to work on a group project with him. What were the odds? He'd been a senior back then, about to graduate, and he'd been in the art department. Why on earth is he back and taking Real Estate Finance? She's about to google him but then stops herself. Because if she knows more than she should, she'll probably blurt it out inadvertently, say, when she's desperately trying to be normal and make small talk with him. Or, she'll be so afraid of what she might blurt out inadvertently that she won't be able to talk at all.

And she will be normal around him. And what will make that a whole lot easier is that he probably won't even remember her.

But he does, he claims, two days later, when their group meets at the end of class to exchange numbers and e-mail addresses. "Katniss Everdeen," he says in that voice that she still remembers so clearly, "we meet again." He even gives her an easy, warm smile, the kind he'd stopped giving her halfway through that drawing class. And she tries to return it, but she still can't seem to look him in the eye.

She does look at him enough to see that his hair is a little longer and floppier, and that he has a bit of a beard. She's surprised she hadn't noticed him in class before this, because despite the differences in his appearance, and the fact that it's a class of nearly 200 people, there's just — just something unmistakable about him, she realizes now.

She doesn't think she can be normal around him yet, though, so she avoids him in class two days later, which isn't hard to do, because she always slips in at the last minute anyway, into a seat in the back by the door, and then slips out as soon as class is dismissed.

They have their first group meeting the following week, in the student union cafe. Cato Fillmore and Marvel Lamott, the other two members of the group, are total and complete frat boys, and the only possible saving grace that she can see is that Cato's dad owns a large construction company, and Marvel's family is one of the most prominent real estate developers in the Atlanta market. Both claim to have worked with their families' businesses for years, so maybe they've absorbed a thing or two, she reasons.

She still doesn't know what Peeta's doing here, though. Maybe he hadn't been able to find a decent job with his art degree and is looking for a career change. But then he tells them that on weekdays, he generally can only meet after 3:30 pm, because he works until then.

"Yeah? Where do you work?" Cato asks, even though he doesn't look all that interested in the answer.

"North Valley High. I teach art there."

"You're an art teacher?" Marvel asks, and she doubts she's imagining the hint of contempt she hears in his voice. "So that's why you're taking this class, huh? Looking for some investments to supplement that measly income, amirite?" He laughs, looking to Cato for approval. Cato's looking at his phone by this time, and he grunts out something that's meant to mimic a laugh. She resists the urge to punch them both.

"Precisely," Peeta responds, looking even more bored than Cato does. "All right, let's figure out how to divide everything up. Anybody have any preferences?"

They're supposed to put together a plan for the construction of a new mixed-use development that will be financially viable. Cato says he'll research the hotel market, muttering something about making sure it'll have a swanky rooftop bar, and Marvel takes the retail portion. Then Peeta turns to her, and when she still doesn't say anything, he says, "Katniss?" and she can't think, because he's saying her name in that voice. Finally, she mumbles, "I don't care; I'll do whatever," and looks down at her notebook.

"Ok, then," he says. "I'll do the residential portion and you can do the office space?"

She nods, and out of the corner of her eye, she can tell that he's finally turned away from her. After they all agree on their next meeting time and she mumbles a general "See you next week" to the table, she rushes away and resolves that next time, she'll be normal.

She's not exactly normal at their next meeting, but she does manage to say "Hi" and smile and look at him, all at the same time. He looks surprised and then pleased in the two seconds before she has to look away again, and she's reminded, once again, of how awful she is.

But then she gets so caught up in being annoyed at Cato and Marvel that she forgets to be self-conscious around Peeta. It's pretty clear that rather than having greater knowledge due to their families' businesses, instead, they're just looking to bullshit their way through the class. Great, she thinks, she'll be carrying their loads, since it's unlikely that Peeta the art teacher is going to be able to pull more than his own weight.

But then when Cato and Marvel scoff at putting green design elements into the project, with Cato mumbling something about tree huggers with their pie-in-the-sky ideas, Peeta's the one who's articulate enough (and calm enough) to explain to them the tax incentives and lower operating costs that will make the green design aspects financially viable.

"And if you ever paid attention in class, you'd know that," she adds, through gritted teeth.

Cato looks at her and just laughs. "Yeah, whatever. None of this is how stuff works in the real world anyway. But sure, I'll add in the stuff for the green design shit." Marvel doesn't say anything, but she figures he's just Cato's lackey anyway.

"Just use the Miramar Hotel case study as a template," Peeta says. "Plus, it's got a shopping center, so that'll work for Marvel's part too."

"Sure, yeah, we got this," Cato says. Marvel nods, and they both get up to leave.

She fumbles to put her stuff away, and when Cato and Marvel have completely disappeared from view, she turns to Peeta, who's already standing. "Bye, Katniss," he says, with a small smile.

"Thanks for, um, dealing with them," she manages to say before he can turn away.

He looks surprised. "Oh, sure," he says. "I don't know how much good it did though."

She fidgets with her backpack strap. "At least you got them to agree to try it. And, you didn't call them dumbfucks, which is what I was about to do."

He smiles. "That might have ended up being equally effective."

She smiles back, but then he's just looking at her, so she mumbles "See you later," and runs away.

They'd decided not to meet in person again until two days before the project is due, since they can just share and comment on everything via Dropbox. But the day before what is supposed to be their final meeting, it looks like neither Cato nor Marvel have properly factored in the costs of the green technologies they'd discussed. Peeta tries to explain over e-mail what's missing, but she braces herself for a contentious meeting.

The next day, Cato and Marvel are already there when she arrives, but she busies herself with her laptop and ignores them. And then Peeta arrives.

Usually when she'd see him, whether from far away as she scanned the room during lectures or up close during their previous meetings, it was always shortly after Peeta got off work, and he was always dressed in his schoolteacher uniform of button-down shirts and khaki pants. But today, it's several hours later than usual, and when he enters, she has to look away immediately to prevent herself from staring. It's not even that he necessarily looks better in a T-shirt and jeans, she tells herself — it's just that he looks so, well, un-teacher-like.

Luckily, he drops something on the table that she can stare at instead. It's a tupperware container, and it's filled with empanadas. He says they're from the bake sale at school today. She takes a careful bite of one and is startled by how good it is. She looks over at Peeta before she can stop herself and finds him already looking at her. At her mouth, in particular, where she's sure she must have a crumb stuck to her lip. She licks it, embarrassed, just before his eyes flit up to hers. And then he looks quickly away, as if he's the one who's embarrassed.

She swallows and forces herself to talk. "Thanks. These, um, are really good."

He looks back at her and smiles. "I'm glad you like them. They're goat cheese and caramelized onion." She's pretty sure she's only ever had cow cheese, and she doesn't know what caramelized means, but it all sounds pretty fancy for a bake sale. She nods and takes another bite, and she's glad to see that there are plenty more in the container. She suspects they'll be the only good thing to come out of this meeting.

"Look," Cato says, when she and Peeta point out things that are still wrong with his and Marvel's projections. "Whatever the fuck you guys are talking about is minor. This is fine. Let's just put it all together and be done with it."

She knows it's no use, that she'll just have to fix their work herself, and maybe she and Peeta can split it. She's just tired of even having to look at Cato.

Peeta's rubbing his eyes with one hand, and she's distracted for a moment by the way the muscles in his arm flex as he does so. "Fine," he says. "You two draft the executive summary then. I'll compile all the spreadsheets and make sure they link properly."

"I'll help you," she blurts out.

He looks at her and smiles. "Thanks, Katniss."

"So we don't need to meet again," she adds. She really does not want to see Cato's face ever again.

"God, no," Cato laughs. "Meetings are such a waste of time."

As he gets up to leave, she considers sticking out her foot to trip him but decides against it. She waits until he and Marvel are out of earshot and mutters "Dickwads," just to get it out of her system.

Peeta hands her the last empanada and smiles. "So do you want to take a crack at Marvel's piece, and I'll take Cato's?" he asks.

"Ok. And we can meet tomorrow night to put it all together?"

"Um, sure—" he says, looking a little surprised.

"I just — I mean, I'm guessing that Cato and Marvel's executive summary is going to need work too, and it might be easier to talk to each other about what we think needs to be changed—"

"Oh yeah, yeah — I completely agree." He nods emphatically. "It'll be more efficient that way. And I am so sick of the Track Changes function." He smiles but then stops suddenly. "Oh crap. I just remembered - my students are having an art show tomorrow night, from 7 to 10. Can we meet before then?

"No, I have to TA from 5 to 6:30. Can we just meet after your thing, say 10:30?"

"Of course, if you're ok with that."

"We'll just power through it. I'm sure we'll be done by midnight."

They'd agreed to meet at the Computer Training Center, a steel and glass monstrosity in the engineering quad that has the best equipment and wifi on campus. She's the first to arrive at the small conference room she'd reserved, and while she waits, she starts to wonder how she's going to deal with being alone with him in this small room for such a long period of time.

When he appears a few minutes later, he's wearing a dark grey suit over a white shirt, and she can barely respond when he says hi. She's sure she's not going to be able to work in close proximity to him when he's looking like that.

"Sorry," he says, smiling sheepishly. "Things ran a little late. Do you mind if I just run to the bathroom now and change? I'll be right back."

"Um, yeah — I mean, no, of course not, go ahead."

He's turning away but then turns back to her and drops a tupperware container on the table. "Help yourself," he says, before rushing off.

It's the cheese-and-onion empanadas again, and somehow they taste even better this time. She's finishing one off, licking her fingers, when he returns, wearing a Captain America T-shirt and jeans. She laughs and thinks to herself that she'll be fine; she can work with him like this. But then she sees that he's watching her and smiling, and she wonders if his eyes are always this bright of a blue.

"What's so funny?" he asks, taking the seat next to her and reaching for an empanada. Suddenly, all she's aware of is his bare forearm right next to hers.

"Nothing," she tries to say nonchalantly. "I just…like your shirt."

He grins. "So you're a Captain America fan?"

"Maybe," she says, with a small smile, and then opens her laptop. She's not ready to talk to him like this, like they could become friends, when he still makes her nervous just by sitting next to her.

"Good to know," is all he says, turning to open up his laptop as well. "Shall we see how badly Cato and Marvel have fucked things up this time?"

Pretty badly, it turns out, but she'd been expecting it. After she and Peeta agree on what needs to be changed, he volunteers to work on the spreadsheets while she fixes the writeup. For the next hour, they work mostly in silence, and when she looks up from her laptop, she realizes that she actually feels comfortable.

It's late enough that the main lights in the hallways have automatically been turned off, and the blue emergency floor lights have come on instead. Their glow hovers at the edge of her vision and seems to grow more intense with each passing second.

"I hate this building," she says suddenly.

He stops typing and turns to her. "Yeah. It's really awful. Soul-crushing. But have you ever been to the roof?"

"You can go on the roof?"

"Yeah, you're not supposed to, but I guess the door to it is never locked. A friend of mine is a grad student in computer science, and a bunch of them set up some benches and flower pots and stuff. They go up there to unwind when things get too stressful down here."

"Huh," she says. "Good to know." And then she turns back to her laptop before she does something stupid like ask him to take her up there.

Every so often, she steals glances at him as he's working, sees how he bites his lip and types at a rapid clip into his laptop. Sometimes he runs the fingers of his left hand through his hair, but even then, he appears to be completely absorbed in what he's doing. Who knew he'd be such a whiz at spreadsheets? She wonders what other talents he's got locked away beneath that easygoing art-teacher facade.

"Why are you taking this class?" The words are out of her mouth before she realizes it, and she cringes at how accusatory she must have sounded.

"Oh." He looks surprised.

"I'm sorry — you obviously didn't want to tell us — I shouldn't have asked."

"No, no, actually, I do want to tell you. I just didn't feel like wasting my time telling Cato and Marvel. But basically, I'm trying to start a school, and we're going to need to acquire some property and redevelop it to meet our needs. So I thought this might be good preparation for that."

"Wow. How — I mean, that's such a big deal. How do you even start a school? Doesn't that require a lot of money?"

"Yeah, we have a benefactor — you know Haymitch Abernathy?"

All she knows about him is that he's a really rich old guy who lives by himself in a big house outside of town and that he has a reputation for being an alcoholic misanthrope. But it turns out that he's a friend of Peeta's mentor, Cinna, who's a professor in the art department here at the university. And because art classes are being cut left and right in the public schools, Peeta and Cinna want to start an art school with free after-school and summer programs for low-income kids, and Haymitch Abernathy has agreed to provide the bulk of the funding.

"What about you?" he asks. "Why are you taking this class?"

She starts telling him about how she's interested in green building, and before she knows it, she's told him about her summer internship, her senior project, her anxieties about her job search, and who knows what else. Somehow, he'd seemed interested and had asked her real questions, and she'd just kept talking.

"Oh god, I'm sorry. I just rambled on."

"No, no, I needed that break — I was starting to go cross-eyed staring at these numbers. And I love hearing about what other people do, especially when they're passionate about it. Maybe — maybe you could help us make sure our school has some green elements," he says, and she thinks he actually means it.

"I'd like that," she replies with a small smile before burying her face back into her laptop.

It takes another hour and change of proofreading and formatting before they finally feel like everything is ready to be turned in. As they're packing up their things, she realizes that she almost doesn't want to leave.

Peeta looks up from his messenger bag and smiles. "Thanks for sticking it out with me on this project, Katniss. I don't know what I would've done without you."

"Same."

"We make a good team," he says and then just looks at her, still smiling. She manages to smile back, and then he stuffs his travel mug into his bag and walks to where she's waiting by the door.

The clock on the wall says it's almost 2 am, and the second hand keeps ticking along, but she feels like time is standing still.

"I'm — I'm sorry I was so rude to you — when you were my TA," she blurts out.

"What? Back in that drawing class?" he says, looking genuinely perplexed. "I didn't think you were rude."

"You didn't?"

"Well, I mean, I figured I deserved it," he says with a sigh, and she wonders if she's imagining the blush that begins to spread across his cheeks.

"What? Why?" She's completely dumbfounded. He'd been nothing but kind to her back then.

"I mean, I was attracted to you, and I figured you were totally weirded out by me — like, how much I used to pay attention to you. You couldn't even look at me," he says, with a rueful laugh. "And then I felt like a total creep, so I tried to keep my distance."

She stares at him. "You — you were—" And she has to force the words out: "You were attracted to me?"

He laughs again. "I thought it was pretty obvious," he replies. She's still staring at him, and he winces. "And there I go again, weirding you out. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be allowed to talk when I'm sleep-deprived."

"No, I'm just — surprised," she manages to say. "I mean — you don't feel that way about me anymore, right?"

"I…I still think you're gorgeous," he says, in a low voice, and she braces herself for the "but" that she knows is coming next. "But I think — or I hope — I've gotten better at keeping my stalker tendencies in check. And at least you're talking to me this time, so maybe I have." He takes a deep breath. "But…I'll be honest, spending time with you has only made me like you more."

Her mouth is completely dry, and even if she could find a way to speak, she doesn't know what she would say.

"Oh god, I'm sorry," he sighs. "I'm really sorry. After tonight, you won't have to deal with me anymore."

"No—" she finally gets out. Her backpack slips off her shoulder and onto the floor. And then, somehow, she's leaning forward and taking his face in her hands. He's silent and looking into her eyes with an intensity that makes her look down at his lips instead — and she presses her own against them before she can talk herself out of it.

And then his hands are on her waist, pulling her closer, and his lips are moving against hers, and they're soft and warm, and she wants more. She parts her lips further, and when his tongue brushes hers, her stomach swoops into her chest, and she moves her hands to run her fingers through his hair. His hands are pressing against her lower back, and when his fingertips slip under the edge of her T-shirt, she starts feeling like she's losing her mind.

His lips move to her throat and start making their way down, slowly, and then his beard tickles her skin. She squirms and tries to suppress her laughter, but that seems to make things worse, and she lets out a noise that's something between a choke and a laugh. He stops, and he's breathing heavily, and she realizes that she is too. He places his forehead against hers and says, "Sorry."

"It's okay. Your beard tickles is all."

"I'll shave it off. As soon as I get home."

She laughs. "No, I like it. I'll get used to it." And then she wonders about what he just said, and what she just said, and whether there'll be something, anything, between them after this.

He glances at the clock. "It's so late," he says, sighing. She wonders if he's saying this because he wants to go home. And even though she hates this place and knows she needs to get some sleep, she doesn't want to go. She feels it more now, that this spell that they're under will somehow be broken once they leave.

"Have dinner with me tomorrow," he says, and then brings his lips to hers again, softly at first, and then more urgently, drawing her lower lip between his.

She breaks the kiss before she starts losing her mind again. "I don't want to leave yet," she says against his mouth. "Will you — will you show me the roof?"

They reach the end of a hallway in a far corner of the 12th floor, where he opens a narrow, unmarked black door. She sees a metal staircase that presumably leads to the roof. He's been holding her hand, but they haven't spoken since they left the conference room.

As the door shuts behind them, he stops and pulls her hand toward his mouth and kisses the inside of her wrist, and she gasps. He continues pressing kisses, each successively warmer and wetter than the last, along the inside of her arm, and she's not sure how much longer she's going to be able to remain in a standing position. When he reaches the crook of her elbow, he finally looks at her face. She's half-afraid of what he might be seeing there, but then his other hand is suddenly around her waist and pulling her into him, and he's covering her mouth with his, and she's losing herself again.

He breaks the kiss, panting, and says, "Sorry, I got a little distracted." He reaches up to her face and rubs his thumb along her cheek. "Shall we?"

She follows him up the stairs, part of her in a daze, and the other part hyper-aware of their interlocked fingers, of the warmth of his arm when it brushes hers.

When they reach the top, he has to kick at the door to get it to open. He holds it for her to walk through, then stops to move a brick into place to keep it from slamming shut. She walks ahead to where there are some benches and potted plants and looks out over the ledge to all the lights and shadows down below. Her hair is already half out of her braid, and the breeze keeps whipping it into her face.

She hears him walking toward her, but she doesn't turn around; she's almost afraid to look at him again. But then he's behind her, placing his hands on her hips, and breathing "Hi" into her ear, and she shivers, and somehow she feels both safe and nervous all at the same time. When he brings his lips to where her neck meets her shoulder, and his hair brushes against her ear, she just wants to sink back, into him, and stay there.

"So, I'm really, really glad Cato and Marvel turned out to be such slackers," he says, putting his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest, and burying his face in her hair.

"I don't know. Maybe this would have happened anyway, and we also could have gotten some sleep."

"No," he says laughing just a little, and she feels it reverberate through her back. "I'm quite sure you wouldn't have said more than two words to me if you hadn't been forced to be alone with me for hours and hours." She's about to protest, but he continues: "And if by some miracle, this had ended up happening anyway, I don't know if we would have gotten very much sleep." And then he's pressing his lips to the top of her shoulder and then slowly up the side of her neck to her earlobe, and his beard is tickling her skin, and her knees are giving way, and she's pretty sure he's right.