The late-summer air is warm and clean, the leaves already beginning to change color. The heat isn't quite as unbearable as it was last week; Bree and I had to leave open all of the windows to let in some cool air, but a few bums broke in our small house, rummaged through the cabinets, and stole our food. Fortunately, I have a meager, low-paying job in mining that can somewhat support the two of us. My skills from training carry me through real life when I need to hunt to get us some extra food. Sure, it's illegal, but it's not like other people don't do it. I often find small, human-sized tears in the bottom of the barbed wire fence that is never really electrocuted like they say it is. Today wasn't a hunting day for me though; it wasa workday. I return home from the mines, once again, making the mere salary that barely supports Bree and I (let alone the family we might one day plan to have).

We have made ourselves virtually unrecognizable, hiding in the shadows of the Seam—though it is quite evident we don't look like the traditional Seam people with their straight black hair, stormy grey eyes, and olive skin. I have made sure to grow a shadowy beard, which is no more than gruff stubble, and keep my hair longer. Bree can't really do much, considering her fiery auburn locks are easily recognizable to even the blind. She normally just fixes it up in a bun and dresses plainly like the rest of the people in this God-forsaken district.

I'm seriously disliking Snow's decision to send us out here to District 12. First, I'm not accustomed to the low-class way of life they are used to living here. I hate to brag, but my family is of high status—we are older money than the Tylks, actually. Living off of half of what I am used to living off of in District 1 does not make for a happy man. When I first started my job, they called me "Baby Hands" because of how soft my hands were from not having done really any work my entire life. I wasn't ready to change my lifestyle. Secondly, how can he expect that people won't recognize us and start to rebel, asking, "Why did the other children have to compete and die when these kids are living proof that you can revive them?" I guess Snow has his own motives and reasoning, though, and I guess I'd just be playing with fire if I were to mess with his system. And touching Snow's fire is a sure way to get burned alive.

I also feel pretty bad for Bree. It's clear that she has never touched a pan or stove before in her life, probably because she always had her maid fix her food. It's quite sad to see her frustration in the kitchen every night as she burns food in an earnest attempt to make something somewhat edible. Tonight, we are having venison stew from the deer that I brought in last night.

I open the door, sending me straight into the kitchen. "Hey, Bree," I say, taking off my coal-dust-covered boots and shirt.

She is facing the stove, trying to simmer the sausage in broth when she accidentally knocks the pot over. "Damn!" She exclaims, exasperated. "I spent all day on that…and it actually wasn't overcooked."

"Sorry…" I say quietly as I head into the bedroom and slide on a dirty white t-shirt.

"No, no…It's ok. I was just distracted by…other things." She wipes her hands on her dress and grabs a wet rag to clean up the floor.

I watch her closely and flatly say, "You know you can't visit him, Bree." She knows that I am referring to Peeta Mellark, of course. Since both he and Katniss Everdeen won the Games (a feat in that of itself), they have had the luxury of living in the Victor's Village with their families and that despicable Haymitch Abernathy. The Village is basically set apart from the rest of the district; if you were to go there, you would forget that it was part of District 12 because of the sheer grandeur of the place. Even if Bree, who loves Peeta, were to risk seeing him there, she would be recognized easily and we would be punished by President Snow.

She hears my words, but doesn't listen to them. "This floor is horrible." She scrubs the floor harder.

I look down at the pitiful splintered planks that board the floor. It's one of the best houses in the Seam, and it's the best we can do right now with the amount of money I'm making. I know where she is coming from though, considering that we are used to nice, laminated hardwood floors. I walk over to her and take her hand in both of mine. "He loves Katniss," I say quietly. "Not you."

She rips her hand out of my grip. "He has a name! Damn it Marvel, will you just say it? Peeta! There I said it! It's not another sick game for us all to play in! It's just us in this stupid, decrepit district and nothing will ever change anymore!"

My face falls, and I know she can sense my shock because she immediately follows up with, "I-I'm sorry. I'm not making any sense at all. It's just…the Games were not what I expected at all. I thought it'd be easy, Marv. I thought it'd be easy…so easy…"

"I shouldn't have said what I said."

"No," she says to the floor. "It's okay. I needed to hear it. This whole ugly, terrible thing has been plaguing me since day one."

I shake my head. "I…well…as much as it hurts me to say it, I honestly think he loves you. I don't know why I said that he loves Katniss—"

"Because he does." She looks at me with doe eyes now, and I feel horrible for having randomly said what I said. It's not necessarily true. Only half-true.

"Bree…" I groan softly.

She throws the rag away from her and wraps her arms around my neck like she's going to kiss me, but I don't deserve it. "Bree…" I repeat, but she touches her lips to my mouth. I try to change the subject to the question that's been haunting me for four months. Our lips still resting on each other's, I begin to speak. "Bree?"

Her eyes are closed. "Mmm?"

"I love you."

"Mhm."

Her response is making me quite nervous. "Remember when I was dying, and you told me that you loved me?"

"What?"

I push her off of me now, and my tone grows surprisingly deep and assertive. "I'm serious."

Bree starts to laugh, her clear voice echoing throughout the small house. "Serious about what?"

"Do you love me or not?"

"Well of course," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Would you marry me if I asked you to?"

The smile is wiped off her lips as quickly as it had come. A long pause fills the air, leaving the question hanging over both of us like a knot of unity on one side, and a noose on the other. "I…"

I answer quickly. "Do you really love me then?"

"Yes, Marvel! Why are you interrogating me?"

"Because I would really like to start a family with you someday. I'll save and make more money in a few years, and we can live with the Merchants. Our kids will be better off there, well fed, somewhat clean," I say with childish ambition. "I just want to do it all under the proper conditions first."

She runs her small, thin fingers through my hair and sighs. "Marvel, we still have so much life to live," she says softly. "We are teenagers. I agree that we should wait again until marriage, but really, we have so much time to make these decisions. Things might…change between now and then."

I stand and help her up. "Maybe for you," I begin, kneeling on one knee and holding her palm in mine. "But there's one thing I know, Breelle Elispeth Tylk, and it's that I will love you always and forever."

Then, I pop the question that I have wanted to ask her forever… "Will you marry me?"