A/N: From my deviantART account, WrenTree. :B

Primrose Everdeen.

The name almost sickened Peeta as it resonated through the square of District 12, bouncing off screens and worried faces alike. He sucked in a breath, not daring to watch as the small girl, blonde braids draped in front of her shoulders as her blouse poked out in the back, walk down the center of the square toward the makeshift stage in front of the Justice Building. More than that, Peeta tried with all his might to not look to the section of 16-year-old girls. He didn't want to see the pained expression that always followed the misery, misfortune, embarrassment – anything – of Primrose Everdeen. Because everyone knew that the only person feeling as bad as, or worse than Prim was her sister, Katniss.

But no one knew that better than Peeta, besides maybe that stuck-up dark-haired boy Katniss was always seen with, Gale. Peeta had watched how every day, Katniss would wait for her younger sister after school, making her hold her hand as they ventured back to the Seam. He remembered watching as Katniss, while everyone else flooded to the doors, ran back to find Prim during both drills and non-drills. He even witnessed Prim asking Katniss if she could go sign up for tesserae and the heavy reprimanding she got from her sister for even considering such a thing, even though the older girl's name was already in the bowl twenty times. Katniss had done everything to keep Prim safe, all for nothing.

It all flooded Peeta's mind when Katniss shoved her way to the front (well, not so much shoved since people hurriedly moved out of her way) and yanked at Prim's delicate little body. She was going to do it. She was going to do the ultimate thing to protect her sister.

"I volunteer!" she called, voice strained. "I volunteer as tribute!"

That was when Peeta couldn't hold back the memories: his father talking about Mr. Everdeen's magnificent voice, Peeta hearing Katniss sing for the whole school, how he felt even at ten years old. But the most prominent memory was their first real interaction, when he was twelve.

His mother had been in a foul mood, not that she never was. Peeta had to stay up late making at least twenty loaves of raisin bread for the mayor – one of his favorites. He didn't mind so much; he enjoyed the smell of baking bread, the feel of warm loaves against his palms. But his mother could make it less enjoyable.

"Can you believe that?" She was going on about a customer while Peeta checked on the loaves in the oven. "Fifty cents for two cheese breads! Is he mad? I put a lot of hard work into making these bloody things." Peeta had left out his thoughts that he had been the one putting a lot of hard work into the bread.

The loaves were finished and the young boy pulled them out of the oven. He stoked the fire, readying it for another round of loaves. The ones that had finished baking he transported one by one to an iron pan.

"Good lord, those Seam brats." Peeta turned to see his mother opening the door to the back alley where the animals and gardens were. "Oi! Seam rat! I'll call the Peacekeepers on you! I'm sick and tired of those brats digging around in our trash bins."

Peeta got one good look at the "Seam rat" and his heart skipped a beat. It was her, that girl. The one who sang. She was a Seam girl, digging in trash cans for food to feed her whole family. And she was his age.

Suddenly working in the kitchen with a moody woman didn't seem so bad to Peeta.
The door slammed shut so hard that it reopened a smidge. Peeta took the chance to peer outside, watching as the girl stumbled toward a tree and collapsed at its trunk. She looked tired and cold in the pouring rain, and she was probably going back to the Seam empty-handed.

"Peeta, stupid boy, that bread isn't going to bake itself!" his mother shouted and he shut the door. Then, without thinking, he snatched up two raisin breads and tossed them into the oven, a bit too close to the fire. One more nudge and…

"Peeta Mellark!" Peeta jumped, snatching the loaves right back. "Look at what you've done! They're completely blackened!" With one swift jerk, her palm made contact with his temple and he let out a small cry of pain. Before he could react, he was shoved back toward the door. "Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread."

Peeta stood on the porch, eyes avoiding the girl's slumped figure. After a moment he stepped down toward the pigsty and tore off a chunk of bread. As he hurled the blackened dough to the pig, he heard the door to the kitchen shut. Casting a glance behind his shoulder, he chucked one loaf toward the girl; without waiting to see her reaction, he threw the second. With that, Peeta returned to the kitchen.

Only when he got back inside did Peeta realize how much his cheek hurt; the cool rain had soothed it temporarily and now that he was in the heat of the kitchen, the sting was only just bearable. But Peeta shoved the pain aside, just like the act he just put on for his mother, for the girl. For Katniss Everdeen.

And now, as Katniss stepped on stage to take her sister's place, Peeta had to push everything aside. Because she had gone further than ever this time to keep Prim alive and safe. She was a dead woman walking. And this time, Peeta couldn't do anything to help her.

"Peeta Mellark."

He had been daydreaming so much that he missed everything that was going on around him. He missed the whole of District 12 saying good-bye to Katniss by lifting their left hands and pressing three fingers to their lips and raising them. He missed Haymitch Abernathy's little "performance" and Effie Trinket's hasty reading of the boy tribute's name. It took him a moment to process.

Peeta Mellark. That was his name. What followed was a hierarchal series of thoughts: That meant he had to go up on stage now. That meant he was a tribute with Katniss, the girl he always took the time to watch closely in the hall. That meant he was going to the Capitol as District 12's male tribute. That meant he was a piece in the Hunger Games. And that meant that he, too, was a dead man walking.

But above all else, one thought kept swimming through Peeta's mind like a shark, waiting to prey on the last of his calm mentality: If he wanted to survive, Katniss would have to die.

He turned to the girl, really looking at her for the first time since Prim's name was called. She had her constant, emotionless expression on her face, but it was slightly tinged. Pain. She knew the following weeks would be torturous, and not just for her, but for her family too.

Peeta extended his hand and Katniss took it. While they shook, Peeta's hand twitched slightly, squeezing the girl's palm gently. Oh well. Hopefully she would think it was a reassuring gesture.