Second

Author's note:

This drabble has nothing to do with Before Dawn, my other story. It just happened.

I've been thinking of maybe doing this love letter series, where I just upload short drabbles that are written based on Peeta and Katniss's love for each other. Mostly just prose. The idea is that each one is just meant to capture a particular emotion, or aspect of their love.

Let me know what you think. Hope you enjoy :)

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When I think about it too hard, I think I knew I would fall in love with him first.

In was in his eyes, probably. Not the colour- though the colour was intriguing, and such a contrast to my own- but the expression. What was that? How could anyone be so…kind?

His hair was made from the threads of sunshine, frayed apart and spun into something more. His skin made me tingle.

I have never been good with words.

But even if I was, I imagine I could never do him justice. What is it to love? It was this.

It was the way he would throw those hundred pound sacks of flour over his right shoulder, eyebrows kneading into his forehead in the effort and pearls of sweat beginning their slow descent down his reddened forehead. It was the way his arm flexed beneath his worn cotton shirt, which was holey and much too big for him at first. Until it wasn't.

His shoulders filled out. He grew too tall, at least for me, and his jawline got more defined. On the days he forgot to shave, there might be a light dusting of golden rays on his chin and neck.

His lips. They were…they were like everything I'd never known I craved until I studied them. Too pale, thin yet pouty, and they looked so soft. Like strawberry yoghurt. Blushing clouds. Love.

And then he would laugh, and in so many different ways. Like, like sometimes, when he was walking down the hallway with a friend, they would say something and he would do that polite laugh. That little chuckle. Just to make sure they didn't get embarrassed.

And then sometimes something would take him by surprise, and his eyebrows would fly up and his eyes would shoot open wide, and then this whole-faced grin would just break across his face, and he would laugh, laugh loud like the oxygen he was breathing in was just too damn amusing, and he would grasp onto the wall in a way that made me want to tackle him and wrap my legs around his waist.

And then there was that final laugh. The one that wasn't really a laugh, but it wasn't a smile either. It was when he was being serious, or too smart, and then someone would say something, and he would grin with his eyes. They would twinkle like the stars I prayed to at night, whole universes hidden inside a pair of orbs that were the colour of a spring afternoon, and I would die inside.

It was like he was trying to hide it.

I was trying to hide it.

You know that moment you get, when you've been pushed too far, or you're trying to hold back, to fit in, to conceal something that is snapping inside of you? Well, that's how it was. Around him, it was like I was sucking in my stomach, to the point where my muscles were screaming for release, and I was so tense I could hardly move. That was me.

He'll never know.

You see, even now, when the world sings and all is good, he'll never know. Maybe he thinks he does. Maybe he thinks he knows I love him.

But you see, those words are so undermined. I used to say it to my mother, waving her off as I stalked out the door and tightened my grip on my backpack. Love you, she'd say. Love you, Mum.

But that love was like a staple in my life, a sturdy, basic thing that was as essential as the crust beneath my soles. And as interesting. Love you.

I love you.

And he can't possibly comprehend it, because I barely can. I used to see him at the bakery after school, dragging my little sister over to the candies in the window display in hopes of glimpsing him through the glass. And even if I didn't, it was a little better knowing how close he was.

I fell in love silently. I hushed up feelings I had no business feeling, and then they hushed me up and took me hostage. Love. I drowned in two feet of water. Love. I fell off the edge of a chair.

I underestimated my heart. Or him. They've become the same thing now, haven't they?

I fell in love with him. First. Long before.

But these days, when he rolls over and takes my face and kisses me, these days when he trails a strand of fire down the valley of my back, these days, when he comes up to me and asks me how I am, I'm just so, so grateful I loved him. First.

Because otherwise, his heart might have been broken. And how could I stand that?