So I finally wrote a peeto, I'm not even sure what this is. But do review none the less just don't be to hard hearted about it. And a big thank you to Mattiboi for the idea! And as they say in show business 'The Show must go on!'
Peeta had come to terms that he at the risk of quoting 'Jane Eyre' was poor, plain and obscure. He knew he could not compete with the Blanche Ingrams and Eliza Reeds of the world and so took he refuge where it was quiet and a pleasant temperature. He worked Monday to Friday nine a.m to four p.m in the city library.
Of course every once in a while someone would show some measure of interest and they'd even date for a while, Gale Hawthorne being one example, something of a Heathcliffe, but as it turns out Heathcliffe was not the best of men and Peeta was in many ways like Heathcliffe's wife Miss Linton, not that gale was cruel or purposely hurt him but that he was always so…distant, cold and unforthcoming.
They broke up a short while later.
By this point in his life he was a Tess Durbeyfield as opposed to Jane Eyre or Elizabeth Bennett.
But one day, one day that day being October 3rd one man came to the library, Peeta had seen him around, he as Peeta guessed worked at one of the office blocks nearby, considering they both took the same bus and got off at the same stop, he'd even spoken to Peeta a few times, of course they weren't anything special or particularly interesting but Peeta hung onto every word like his life depended on it and often found himself thinking of witty or humorous things he could say to this man but alas this was not Agnes Grey and no Edward Western was going to speak to him out of the blue.
But now was that time.
Peeta gathered his energies and pushed back the anxiety that gripped him at thus moment and spoke "Hello, can I help you find a book?" His voice sounded calm, perfectly reasonable, professional.
"Uh yeah actually" The man said. Correction, the blonde God amongst mortals said "I'm looking for something about owls"
"Owls?" Peeta asked he was fond of owls but had to wonder why this man wanted a book on owls.
"Yes" God amongst mortals said
"Well…" Peeta trailed off, avoiding eye contact "if you follow me I can take you to our wild life section"
A short while later Peeta was on his side of the counter registering tall, blonde and handsome, Cato as his name turned out to be.
"Is there anything else?"
"No, I'm fine, good afternoon" without Peeta getting another word in Cato left and Peeta was back to the bleak existence which was his life.
Later that day, at around three thirty it had started raining and by three fifty it was pouring down rain and thunder was clapping at short intervals, Peeta had of course left his umbrella at home and was left to brave the rain with his coat pulled tightly around him, he'd be soaked in seconds.
He slipped, the clumsy fool slipped, he fell, dropped his messenger bag and everything spilled out, Madame Bovary was a pile of pulp, his reading glasses were on the other side of the pavement and he felt like crying, doubtless he was late for the bus.
He had gathered his, sopping possessions and stood up abruptly which he regretted because he fell straight down again.
But this time, this time there was someone there to help.
Cato.
Tall blonde and handsome, a God amongst mortals.
"Let me help" he said earnestly helping Peeta off the pavement, Peeta was soaked and in a gesture of kindness Cato offered his coat.
"No, I couldn't" Peeta had always lacked common sense when taken by surprise "I don't mind the rain, really"
"And I don't suppose you like it either?" Cato grinned, or possibly a smirk, Peeta couldn't tell. The rain was too heavy.
"Well, I do, just not when I'm caught in it" Peeta stammered pausing awkwardly several times.
"Take it Peeta, if I'm going to have to look after you I'm not letting you get sick"
"I can look after myself"
"You've fallen twice in five minutes, there was an eighty percent chance of rain and you didn't bring an umbrella, the list goes on"
"Fine"
"Fine, what?"
"Fine, I shall borrow your coat"
And maybe , just maybe Peeta was the Jane to Cato's Rochester or the Agnes to his Edward after all.
That's all there is there isn't anymore