"I was just baking," Peeta says as I follow him into the kitchen, leaving my bag by the door. He sweeps a hand across the kitchen table and catches the crumbs in his cupped palm. Peeta drops them in the trash, blushing slightly. He's cleaning up as though he has a visitor, not a person who practically lived here with him. He isn't looking at me. Instead, he moves some pans and things to the sink and runs the water for a second before wiping the counter with a cloth. He leaves the cooling rack on the counter.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asks, catching my eye and bashfully looking away again. He doesn't know what to do with himself.

"Oh, yeah. I'd love some water. Or tea," I reply just as awkwardly.

"I can do that," Peeta says, grateful for a task for his unhappily idle hands. He turns his back to me and fills a teapot with water before setting it on the stove. He grabs some herbs and tea from the cabinet and puts the loose leaves in a mesh bag before dropping it in a mug.

My mug.

When he slides the hot beverage across the counter and into my hands, our fingers brush.

"Sorry," he whispers slightly, withdrawing just a step. He's waiting for me to make the first move. To step forward. To let him in. But unlike all the other times we've done this dance, he's trying to bury a grin. His cheeks are flushed. "I just can't believe you're really here."

"Well, from what I've heard you had a lot to do with that," I offer.

"Oh, not really," Peeta obviates, his hand reaching to the back of his head and brushing over his hair. "I mean, I made my case, but I don't know if I really changed anything…" He lets his voice drop off. Neither of us can take a compliment. The timer on the oven buzzes its way undesirably into our conversation, like a fly in a cup of soup. Peeta turns his attention to the stove and I stare at my tea. I watch the tea bag steep – the black liquid invading the clear water around it. It's quiet except for the sound of pans on metal racks and the water sloshing in my cup, so when the kitchen door bursts open I leap up from my seat.

"Peet! There's a train down at the station! Have you heard anything?" Rye Mellark asks in a bubbly tone. He follows Peeta's gaze behind him and turns to face me. I watch his blue eyes as they bulge from his head.

"Katniss," Peeta says softly, stepping toward me with his hands out. "Can I have the knife?"

"What?" I ask. I look at my hand and realize I'm clasping a blade so tightly I can't even feel my fingertips. I scan the counter and realize I must have pulled it from the knife block. I don't even know when that happened. I loosen my hand and the knife slips from my fingers and clangs precariously on the ground. I don't bother stepping away to avoid the sharp, bobbing edge.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, retreating backward.

"Katniss, it's okay," Peeta whispers, but my hands shove him away from me sloppily.

"I'm sorry," I repeat before I turn and run out the front door. I don't know exactly where I'm going. My eyes follow the street out of the village, but I can't walk through a graveyard right now. Not today. I stare at my house but I know that will be worse. Instead I cross toward one of the vacant homes. I break a window in the basement and crawl through. A straggling piece of glass catches the back of my arm and cuts a thin, small slice into my skin before I realize what's wrong. "Ouch!" I hiss as I clasp my arm. I feel the blood pooling under my fingers – hot and sticky and recognizable, like an old friend. The basement is damp and full of cobwebs and dust. I lean my back against the wall and try to calm the rhythm of my heart.

In. Out. In.

I hear Peeta outside, shouting my name. I ignore him, but I haven't gone very far and it doesn't take long for him to find me. He crawls into the basement and squats in front of me.

"Hey there," he says as he pulls a clump of dirt from my hair. It's still short, but it's long enough that it's starting to get in my eyes. It makes me want to cut it off all over again. "You gave Rye a scare but he's fine. I mean, he kept saying how he could have taken you if he really had to, but aside from being delusional he's fine," Peeta jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

"Maybe I shouldn't be around anyone for a while," I say. Peeta drops himself beside me, pressing his back against the wall. He won't dignify my comment with a response. "Is Rye staying with you?" I ask.

"No, he and Delly took up one of the houses up the street," he says as he digs his toe into the line of dust that covers every inch of the cement floor. "They… they don't plan on staying. He just wanted to make sure I was okay first."

"Where are they going?" I ask.

"They want to live somewhere new. They're talking about Eleven, maybe. Delly wants a garden. You can't grow much of anything in coal ash," Peeta relents. I stare at the ground. I should know how to comfort him by now, but in this moment I can't even comfort myself. "Are you bleeding?" Peeta asks, spying the damp red stain on my arm.

"Oh. Um, I think so?" I don't get much out before he's hoisted me to my feet.

"Come on. I'm sure there's a first aid kit upstairs. The houses are all identical," Peeta says, leading his way up the basement stairs and expecting me to follow. When we reach the upstairs bathroom, Peeta finds a first aid kit in the same place as his house. My shirt sleeve is soaked. It's not a bad wound, but the blood would make you think I'd lost an arm or something. I sit on the edge of the bathtub and pull the ruined shirt from my skinny body. Whatever was once attractive about me has faded. I'm too thin. There's no muscle on my frame. My skin is yellowed by the healing bruises from beatings in prison. Burn scars swirl across my torso as if someone had swept my body in acid. I'm hideous. I know I am by the way Peeta's face shifts when he turns around and looks at me.

"What is this?" Peeta asks, his hands ghosting over my yellow, faded skin. I remember when these wounds were black and fresh. "Did they hurt you?" he chokes out. "They aren't supposed to do that now. There's a law…"

"It was the other prisoners," I respond quickly, trying to cover myself fruitlessly with my scrawny, rail-like arms. I can feel him vibrating next to me, trying to act nonchalant and failing miserably.

We are supposed to be healing and instead I feel like hiding. I pull the shirt back over my body.

"You know what? It's fine," I murmur, the wet bloody cotton now cold as it sticks to my skin. "I can just wait here until…"

Peeta sits on the edge of the porcelain tub beside me and cups my face in his hands. "Rye left. He's not mad. He thought you and I might need some space," Peeta says. Great. Now I'm driving a wedge between him and his brother. I turn so Peeta's hands slide away.

"He shouldn't have to do that," I murmur.

"He's been hovering since I got here. I swear if I hear him say 'You okay, Peet?' one more time I'll pull a knife on him myself. Please be my excuse for some space," he pleads. The old Peeta never would have made a joke like that. The old me would have laughed.

We head back to Peeta's place. My homeless bag still sits by the door. I could run. Make an easy escape. "Do you want some breakfast?" I shake my head no.

The rest of the day we simply coexist in his house together. Peeta bakes. I stare out the window. Peeta leaves for a quick stint to deliver bread down to the market. He asks if I want to come, but I decline the offer. Instead, I find a book in his office and start reading. The Capitol put these here, so I dismiss any validity right from the start. The book is written like a diary of a young girl. I realize that Prim's diaries are probably next door in her room. The thought makes my body flush with heat then cold. I put the book back on the shelf, curl up on the small sofa, and close my eyes. I try to pretend the day away. By the time I open them again, it's already too dark to see without a light and I don't bother to turn one on.

Peeta comes upstairs and finds me. He assumes I'm asleep because he grabs a quilt from the linen closet and drapes it over my body. He pauses for a moment, taking me in.

"You're beautiful. You know that?" he whispers, words he knows I'd rebuff if I were awake. Words he wants to say to me but can't. I don't know how he still finds me beautiful after all this. Not only is my body burned and broken, my personality is too. I'm reclusive and moody. I don't eat or talk. I'm not curious or adventurous. I've never been particularly kind. I'm quick to anger and slow to forgive. I hear him creep out of the door and slowly close it behind him. The sink runs in the master bathroom, then the shower. Some drawers open and close, until finally it's silent for a while. I lie on the couch, breathing in an out until I can't stand it anymore. I wrap the quilt around my body and pad down the hall. Peeta's door opens with a creak and he looks up at me blurrily. He was barely asleep. Neither of us will ever sleep heavily again.

"Hey," he says, a crooked smile spreading across his sleepy mouth. He props himself up in bed. He's sleeping on top of the blankets. The air is warm with an early summer heat. A slight breeze sweeps in through his cracked window. "Do you need something? You hungry?"

I walk across the room and drop into the bed beside him, still wrapped up tight in my quilted cocoon. I rest my head on the pillow next to Peeta's and he examines me in the dark.

"You want to sleep here? I didn't want to assume…"

I don't say anything, I just nudge my body closer to his. Peeta smiles softly.

"I'm sorry," I offer. "About earlier."

"Don't be," Peeta says, pushing a piece of hair from my eye. He's quiet for a moment, contemplating if he should say what he wants to say next. "Your defense wasn't a lie, Katniss. In your head, you are still at war. I think I am too, a little. It's going to take a while to come down from that. You can't beat yourself up. You just have to give it time."

For once, that's something we both have plenty of.

Time.

"Night," I whisper into the dark. The fingers in my hair slide to my cheek, running his thumb over my skin and then pulling them back to the safety of his sides.

"Good night, Katniss," Peeta whispers back.