Various ingredients clutter the counter tops. Cooking utensils I've never seen before are neatly aligned beside the sink. Pots and pans and skillets are stacked precariously wherever there's room to spare. My kitchen looks like culinary heaven, although this stuff is alien to me. As I take in the scene, I lift the strap of my game bag over my head and hang it on the back of a dining chair. I rule out this being Greasy Sae's handiwork, since the variety of her cooking mostly requires a big pot for her stew, or occasionally a frying pan used for bacon or eggs. I thoughtfully run my hand over the handle of a wicked looking butcher's knife.
"Wash your hands," a voice catches me off guard, and I recoil my fingers as if the knife might detonate. I turn on Peeta, walking through the door with a sack of flour slung over his shoulder. He's really regained his strength since I'd last seen him. His hair has grown out, an unkempt wave of blond now drapes over his forehead to just beneath his brows. His pale blue eyes are tired, still withholding unpredictable intentions, but I catch a glimpse of the old Peeta every now and then. I feel my eyes becoming snared by his own, so I examine my fingernails, and even though they've been chewed to the quick on sleepless nights, a thin layer of dirt has accumulated underneath. "What's all this?" I ask, gesturing to the apparatus strewn around the room.
He sets the flour sack gently on the table, setting off a cloud of dust from the maltreated surface. I'd reassured Sae during her last visit a couple weeks ago that her services were no longer required, that I could fend for myself. Housekeeping hasn't been at the top of my priority list, apparently.
"I'm teaching you how to cook," he says.
"I know how to cook," I counter.
"Katniss, I think we can both agree your stew in the arena was substandard."
"I'm sorry, forgive me for not making a Capitol feast with our unlimited resources!" I cross my arms tightly over my chest. I'm not sure why I'm becoming so defensive, it was only an amicable joke. But it feels good.. I hope he snaps back.
"You're right. I'm sorry," he frowns, then turns his attention to scrubbing his hands in the sink. Of course he wouldn't retaliate. He's Peeta, at least for the moment. I neither accept nor decline his apology, and instead shove past him towards the stairs. He knows the root of my outburst runs deeper than his comment on my stew in the arena, which I myself will admit was hard to stomach. But I don't anticipate it when his hand catches mine.
"Wait, Katniss. Please," I don't dare look at his face as he speaks. I try to hold on to the trace of the old Peeta, the one before the rebellion, the one that held me through my nightmares and played with my hair on the rooftop of the Training Center, because I can hear him in this request. This alone is the only reason I don't pull my hand away, but as a natural reflex my entire arm stiffens with this effort. "Let go, Peeta," I say as forcefully as possible.
His grip flinches, as if it can't decide whether it should let go or hold tight. The strain in his fingers begins to alarm me, and I think he might be having a hijacking relapse. I turn to check for the look of desperate madness to sink in, his intelligent blue eyes to be overcome by the dilation of his pupils while he fights with himself not to strangle me. Instead, I find calm concern, but still traces of confusion. We're frozen like this, frozen while he examines every inch of my face. I hold my breath as I watch his gaze map out every feature of my face, every scar, every line. Soundlessly, he intertwines our fingers, and I let him. For so long I have resented him. Resented myself. But I let him pull me closer. We are silent as we face each other. I because I don't want to startle him, and he for whatever reason I can't decipher. What does he see? Jagged scars distorting my skin, patches of mismatched skin color? No, his eyes see deeper than my external. They probe my thoughts, my intentions, the questions I have for him, for myself. I fear my eyes may start to tear, if not from emotion then from my unwillingness to blink. I don't look away from his penetrating stare even as I catch a movement to my left, but I soon realize it's his thumb coming to brush my cheek. Now I close my eyes. Because I cannot bear the sight of his face anymore, and I can hardly withstand his gentle touch. I bite my lip and concentrate on my composure.
"Katniss," he whispers my name thoughtfully, mulling over each syllable.
"Yeah?"
He responds with the gentlest of kisses. His lips brush mine only briefly, and then they're gone before I have time to remember them. This is our first kiss since the raid of the Capitol, when he was slipping from me and I was desperate for anything that might help me keep him. I sharply exhale the breath I've been holding, only to gasp again. My eyes remain closed, and I try to recall the memory of our latest kiss. It no longer lingers, and I panic, afraid that it will be gone forever, and I'll never have the chance to touch him again. Just then, I feel his thumb slowly slide down my cheek and along my jawline toward my ear, and from there he cradles my neck in his hand.
"Katniss," he repeats quietly, this time with a sense of familiarity. He's not calling for my attention. He's trying to convince himself that he knows my mouth and taste. And suddenly his lips return, still timid, but curious. I return his kiss, ever so slightly, afraid to scare him away. We separate, but he doesn't remove his hand from my neck or release my hand. I open my eyes to meet his, and they offer a question. Was it like this before? I don't have a response, so I just lift my free hand to brush his hair from his face like I always used to. His muscles clench, the touch initiated by me unwelcome. He drops his hand from my neck and lets go of my hand. And just like that the real Peeta is gone again. I can't tell if we've made progress, or taken a step back.
"I have to go," he says, brushing past me and wincing as if the place we've just touched burns. I don't move. I only gaze over all the cooking equipment we never got to use.