Author's note: Warning: Contains minor spoiler for chapter XVI. Rated M for language.

Thank you to papofglencoe for your quick betaing, and for your friendship.

Rye's POV

My family is fucked up. There's no sugarcoating it—something is seriously wrong with it. From the overly strict mom and cowardly dad to the three sons whose only thing they have in common is their looks.

Here's the rundown: I hate my mother, I despise my father, I tolerate my older brother, and I love my younger brother. Mom never seemed to like either of us, and in almost thirty years I still cannot understand why.

Aaron tried to play the big brother, but he just ended up imitating Mom, driving me nuts. Being on the receiving end of the majority of Mom's constant remarks, Peeta and I kind of grew together. How fucked up is that? We bonded over how much our mother hates our guts.

I dread days like today. They never end good, and I always spend the night depressed as hell.

When we pull up Mom and Dad's driveway, there's already a car there. It must be Katniss', cause there's no way Mom or Dad would ever buy a Focus. I like Katniss. She speaks her mind and seems like a great match for my little brother. Not like Cashmere. I didn't like her when they were dating, and I definitely don't like her now.

Setting aside her numerous betrayals, she's boring as fuck and acted like she was better than everyone else. No wonder Mother liked her. One of the reasons Peeta cared for her so much must've been because Mom liked her. Their relationship was the only thing he'd ever done that she approved of. There's probably some psychological term for it, something about validation or some shit like that.

"Listen," Aaron begins. "Don't tell Peeta about…" He hesitates. "I… Well, we want to tell him. And not today, of all days."

I smack the back of his head. "I wasn't born yesterday, Aaron." He's a bit of a know-it-all and has a bad habit of assuming that we can't think for ourselves sometimes. I don't think Peeta minds, but it can annoy the fuck out of me.

"You sure about that?" he smirks.

"Hey, I'm not the one you're supposed to pick on. Save it for the little one." He snorts. "Besides, I don't understand why she can't come. It's not like she's showing or anything."

"Don't you think Peeta would figure it out if Johanna came and didn't drink or smoke?"

He makes a valid point; Peeta knows Johanna better than anyone. "You're not half as dumb as you look."

He swats my arm before opening the door and getting out. Peeta and Katniss must have just gotten here, because they're all standing by the door as we enter.

"You are aware that this is a pretty big house, right? Everyone doesn't have to stand right inside the door," I say.

"Johanna isn't coming?" Peeta asks, looking at Aaron.

"No, she had to work," Aaron says. God, he's a terrible liar, but no one calls him out on it. Mom isn't crying any rivers about it, though.

We didn't bring any presents. We haven't for years. Peeta made it abundantly clear that this wasn't a day he wanted to celebrate anymore—he doesn't even frost the cake. Seeing as both me and Aaron were devastated after hearing about what went down in D.C., neither of us can even begin to imagine what he went through. So if he doesn't want to celebrate this day, we won't.

Despite not wanting to celebrate, Peeta still always wears a tie. I guess some habits die hard. This one I bought for him a couple of years ago as a joke, never thinking he'd actually wear it. But as the little brother, he always takes the bite. Exactly like the apron, he takes it in stride, almost like a challenge. The tie has a picture of a slightly altered version of Mona Lisa; she's mid-orgasm, and a text reads Moaning Lisa. You have to look close to see it, so the joke is lost on Mom and Dad, although I would pay lots of money to see Mom's face if she realized what it was.

Before stepping inside, I make sure to give Sanders a pat on the head. I really like this dog. He might be my favorite thing about Katniss.

On our way to the dining room I catch up with Peeta, resting my hand on his shoulder. "Hey, man. How are you doing?" I always ask this, and the answer is always the same.

"I'm good."

"You sure?" I know he doesn't want to talk about it, but at some point he's going to have to. He should at least tell Mom. Not that I'd expect any sympathy from her, but maybe it'd get her off his case. At least once a year. I wonder if he's told Katniss.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Because if…"

"Rye, I appreciate your concern, but I really don't want to talk about it. I just want to enjoy my birthday." Right. As if he ever enjoys his birthdays anymore.

"Okay. But if you want to talk, you know I'll always have my little brother's back."

"Who are you calling little?" He feigns hurt. "You want me to bring out the tape-measure again?"

Fuck, I curse the genes that made him an inch taller than me, and I very much regret challenging him on that. This whole family knows that Peeta is the best thing to have come out of it; I don't even have height on my side. "It doesn't matter. What matters is what's on the inside." It's a load of crap, but it's all I've got at this point. Of course this is the exact moment Aaron decides to catch up with us.

"You know, I've never heard a good-looking person say that. What does that make you?"

He seems awfully pleased with himself. "Fuck off, Aaron," I say, flipping him off. I was winning this one, and now Peeta's enjoying my defeat, smiling smugly at me, because the moment you say the f-word or some variation of it everyone knows you've lost.

I guess our bickering naturally comes to an end either way, because Katniss comes back from her visit to the ladies room. It's so fucking obvious how much Peeta adores her. I can't pinpoint it, but he seems so much more relaxed when she's around.

"Hey." He plants a kiss on her nose, and she leans into his arms. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving." I don't miss how her eyes rake all over him, like there's no one else in the room.

I'd be irked the hell out of this if I didn't love my brother so fucking much.

They're holding hands. During dinner. They do it under the table so it's not blatantly clear, but it's obvious based on how close their arms are.

"So. Is there a reason that Sanders is following Peeta's every move?" Aaron asks.

Katniss tries to contain a smile. "Yeah. Apparently Peeta 'drops' a lot of food while he cooks." Of course he does. He cannot resist giving into that dog. Granted, neither can I, because I've been slipping him food too, but that is between me and Sanders.

"I figured it was something like that."

"Hey. Give me some credit," Peeta tries to defend himself, but he knows he's busted. I'd take his place in a contest to the death, but he's on his own on this one. And the score is even again. I didn't even have to do anything.

"If you ever have kids, Peeta, you're gonna spoil them rotten," Mom pipes up. She's been quiet the entire dinner and choose this moment to break her silence. Of course it's a jab at Peeta. She takes turns. On every one of our birthdays she not-so-subtly lets us know what she thinks about our life choices.

Aaron gets shit for being with Johanna, I get shit for not getting a college degree, and Peeta gets shit for choosing to make painting his career and for announcing he doesn't want to run the bakery when Dad retires. She doesn't know about D.C., but either way, it's a dig at him.

"Probably." The grip on his fork is tight; he's doing everything he can not to lose his shit, and Mom would notice if she actually gave a damn.

"I think we're ready for some cake." Smooth, Dad. For once, it'd be appreciated if he took a stand against her. He lets her demean her own sons, and if he said anything maybe she'd finally listen and stop. I don't know if it's because he doesn't care or because he doesn't see it. To be honest, I don't know what would be worse.

"I'll get it."

"Let me help you." Katniss takes his hand, trying to find his eyes. She knows.

Of course Mom is none the wiser, taking another sip of her wine.

Katniss and Peeta are gone way longer than it takes to get the cake. "So, you think they're screwing or what?"

"Rye," Mom scolds. I'm very aware what Mom thinks about my 'foul' mouth. That's part of the reason I do it. To see her reaction when she hears one of her sons talking about fucking. It's hilarious.

"Mom." I stare back at her. "It is his birthday, after all." Besides, making jokes to ease the tension is what I do. I know I've succeeded when I see Mom considering if they actually are screwing. Of course they're not, but the look on her face is priceless.

"Not at the table, Rye." So Dad sides with Mom—big surprise there. I know I'm considered the jokester in the family, but it's pretty fucking annoying the be treated like a child all the time. And Aaron, the ass, just sits there, pretending not to hear.

I don't have time to say anything else before Katniss and Peeta appear in the doorway, and Peeta sets the cake on the table.

"Looks good, Dad."

"Thank you. Still not as good as yours, though." He does this every year, sucking up to Peeta to get him to start decorating the cakes again. It hasn't worked yet.

"I know," Peeta smirks. What is this? Did my brother crack a joke on his birthday? Well, fuck me sideways. I never thought I'd live to see the day.

Of course Mom can't ever cut him some slack. "Peeta, don't brag."

I'm so fucking over this. "It's a joke, Mom. You know—humor? You should try it sometime."

She doesn't answer. Good. Peeta looks pleased, though. I wasn't lying—I'll always have his back.

During desert the conversation runs fairly smoothly. Dad casually asks Katniss about her education, and Peeta gushes over her like the perfect boyfriend. For a while, this feels normal.

"Peeta, do you know what Cashmere does nowadays?" Christ. Let. It. Go. It's been seven years and Mom still thinks Peeta and Cashmere are going to get back together.

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's been a while since we broke up, Mom." He doesn't even look up from his plate. I'd say something to ease the tension, but this is not the time. It could easily backfire, so I stay silent. My jokes might be immature at times, but at least I have timing.

Katniss looks at him carefully, seeming to contemplate whether or not to say anything.

"I don't understand why you let her go." Let her go? She was the one who broke up with him. At least get your facts straight.

"Connie," Dad says. Another half-ass attempt to smooth things over. Mom doesn't take the hint, as usual.

"Fine. I just don't understand."

"Do you really want to know?" Peeta finally snaps. "Do you really want to know why?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"Okay, here's the truth." He stands up. "She's a lying, manipulative bitch. That's why I don't talk to her anymore."

Way to go, little bro. I look at Mom; she never expected this from him. And now she's going to play the martyr card, saying that it's for his own good or some crap like that.

But Peeta continues before she gets the chance. "And I don't appreciate you talking like Cashmere is the best thing that ever happened to me when Katniss is here, proving you wrong."

"Peeta, I only have your best interests at heart." There it is.

"You do?" I'm surprised to see that it's Katniss who speaks up. I know she has no problem speaking her mind, but talking back to Mom? I did not see that coming. Mom tries to defend herself, but Katniss is not having any of it. "I'm sorry, but how can you put down your own son like that? He's the most kind-hearted man I have ever met, and everything that's come out of your mouth tonight has been nothing but veiled insults. It's his birthday, for fuck's sake."

I'd high-five her if the atmosphere wasn't so damn hostile. No one outside this household has ever talked to Mom like that. No one has ever had the guts, because she can be pretty intimidating.

Obviously Peeta's had enough of this shit, because he takes Katniss by the hand and they leave. I don't blame them.

"Wow, Mom. That must be a new level of assholery."

"That's not even a word," my older brother mutters.

"What the fuck does it matter, Aaron?"

"Boys, calm down. Don't make this worse." Dad always tries to fix everything. But this is unfixable.

"I am calm!"

"It's not your fault, Rye. Or Aaron's. It's not even Peeta's." Mom's found her voice again. "I don't understand why she had to come here and ruin our dinner."

"She didn't ruin it. You did. And stop playing the victim, Mom. It doesn't suit you."

Instead of saying anything in her defense, Mom tries to stare me down. I've competed with my brothers in everything—she won't win a staring contest with me. When she finally realizes it, she stands up and leaves in protest. Good riddance.

"Rye, you're not helping," Dad says. Like my actions tore this family apart. "Why don't we call Peeta, and we'll sort this out."

"There's nothing to sort out, Dad. Mom was being a bitch, and they called her out on it. End of story."

"Shut up, Rye!" Aaron yells at me. "Why do you always have to be so crude?"

"If you can't handle the truth, that's your problem. I think this family needs someone who can stand up to her." I throw both Dad and Aaron a look. "Do you even remember what day today is? He's already feeling like shit, and his own family doesn't even seem to care."

Dad gives me one of those I'm-disappointed-in-you looks. "Rye. We know he's hurting, but he doesn't want to talk about it. And it's difficult enough that he doesn't want to tell Connie."

Gee. And Aaron calls me a martyr. "Oh, poor you. This must be such a hard time for you, Dad." I stand up to leave. I need a drink. "Well, thank you for another clusterfuck of a family dinner. Give Mom my regards."

"I'm your ride," Aaron yells from the table as I leave.

"I'll walk." And let me make my dramatic exit without interruption.

"It's fourteen miles."

"Fine, I'll call a cab. Whatever," I say before demonstratively slamming the door behind me.

The strong liquid burns my throat as I down the shot. Before I feel the aftertaste of it I pour myself another one and swallow it too. One more, and that's it. I usually limit myself to two shots, but on family nights I allow myself an extra. God knows I need a limit or I'd be a raging alcoholic, considering what a mess my family is. Every time I go there I think that this might be the time when we can act normal. But I always end up back here, on my couch doing three shots.

It's been like that my entire life. Aaron is privileged because he's the first-born and he's always behaved. I wouldn't say I didn't behave. I just… had an alternative view on rules. And then Peeta came along. He wasn't planned, and it didn't matter that he did everything in his power to please everyone. Mom has never liked him, and what's even more heartbreaking is that everyone else has just accepted it. Enablers.

He's still like that, a people pleaser. He's usually successful, except when it comes to the one who matters the most.

She even hit him once. I was five, and to this day I have no idea what we'd been doing. Maybe we broke something. Either way, something set her off. As a reflex I punched her in the stomach—I didn't even know what I was doing. I don't think Peeta remembers, and there's no need to remind him. But Mom remembers—she's hated me ever since. But at least it seemed like a one-time occurrence.

Fuck, I need to stop wallowing in this shit. I'll only end up on the couch in a shrink's office, and I don't need that. I do what I always do on nights like this.

"Babe." Her hand strokes the front of my shirt, and her breath tickles my ear. "You want to talk about it?"

"No." That's not why I called, and she knows it. I'd like to say we're friends with benefits, but we're not friends. We're just… benefits. I don't want to talk—I want to forget. "Let's not make this into something that it's not."

"Whatever you say," she purrs as she starts to unbuckle my belt, and I lose myself at the touch of her hands and tongue.

After, when I've fucked everything out of my system, she lies with her head on my chest, tracing patterns on it. This has become more and more frequent. Cuddling. I don't like it. I thought we were both on the same page. This was a booty call. Why complicate it?

Sitting up, I put on my pants. She doesn't take the hint, pulling up a blanket from the foot of the couch. No. She's not staying. I thread my fingers through her hair, trying to wake her up.

"I'm gonna go to bed."

"Mmkay. I'll come with you."

Fuck. "Ah, no. You need to go home."

"Why?"

Isn't it obvious?

I guess my silence says it all because she's instantly awake. "Oh my god."

"Why are you so surprised? I thought we both knew what this was."

Tears well in her eyes. I might be a son-of-a-bitch, but I'm not insensitive. My hand captures her cheek, trying to console her while she quickly get dressed, but she swats it away.

This was never my intention. She's a good distraction, but that's it. I'm not interested in a relationship. I'm not against it per se, but if I commit myself to one person it's gotta be with someone I share a deep connection with. It can't be a fling.

"You're a piece of shit, Rye Mellark!"

What else is new?

I don't want to deal with whatever Peeta's going through right now.

Katniss either broke up with him or he's finally realized how fucked up this family is. Maybe both. I down my third and final shot before finding his name in the contact list and pressing the call button.

He answers almost immediately. "Hey."

"Hey. What are you doing?"

"Nothing." Nothing means painting. "How many?"

"Three." I do not want to discuss my drinking habits. "Where's Katniss?"

"Sleeping."

I'm surprised that she's still there. I thought for sure that Mom had scared her away. Guess she's got as much fire as she lets on. "She's a keeper."

"I know." And I know him well enough to know he's wearing that goofy grin on his face. He sighs. "I think I love her, man."

"Well, nice of you to catch up." It's pretty obvious how they feel about each other, even if they haven't realized it themselves yet. I think that was why Mom was pissier than usual. For four years he never smiled on his birthday. But that changed today, and Katniss being there was no coincidence. You'd think that would make a mother happy, but I stopped trying to figure her out a long time ago. "You think she feels the same way?"

"I think so."

"Then you should tell her."

"Yeah, I know." He pauses. "So what happened after we left?"

"The usual. Mom blamed everyone but herself, Aaron defended her, and Dad tried to act as if it's not a big deal."

"Well, it can't be easy for them either. Mom doesn't even—"

"Oh my god, Peeta, don't make excuses for them. I'm telling it like it is. Just like you told Mom."

"Yeah, I guess I should apologize for that." He wants to fix things so badly, and I dread the day when he finally realizes it's pointless.

"Abso-fucking-lutely not." His heart is in the right place, but sometimes he can be a pushover. When we were kids I liked that very much about him, because that meant that he was always the one to fix things after we fought. Now I can't stand seeing him getting walked all over.

I'm so close to telling him about how Mom hit him, but I bite my tongue. All that would accomplish is making the rift in this family even bigger.

"Listen, I should probably go to bed."

I check my wristwatch. "Yeah, it's still your birthday. You should take advantage."

"Yeah, I'm not discussing that with you."

He never dishes about his sex life. I've tried everything—teasing, threatening, pleading—but he's adamant.

"Oh, come on, Peeta. Don't be such a prude. We're brothers; we're supposed to share these things. I'll tell you all about how I celebrated your birthday."

"Pass."

"Fine. Go fuck her brains out, and then tell me all about it in the morning."

He laughs. He laughs. Does he even realize what a huge step this is? For the last four years he's barely said a word on his birthday. What Cashmere did broke him completely, and this is the first sign of any type of progress. I'd be pretty fucking dumb if I didn't connect the dots. Of course this has to do with Katniss. She seems to care about him just as much as I do, and it's doing wonders for him. I just hope she doesn't break his heart, too.

"Rye, you still there?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"I've gotta go, but thanks for calling. It means a lot."

"No prob, little bro."

When I wake up the next day I have a very cryptic text from Peeta. He didn't get any presents last night, so I don't see the connection. I usually give him a pass from the crazy train I put the rest of my family in, but now I'm not so sure anymore.

Peeta: Thanks for the tie ;)

Author's note: Thanks for reading. If you like this little outtake, please drop me a line and let me know I'm doing something right.