In honor of the ongoing CWS, I've written a little Everlark one-shot about love and baseball and fun things like that. I'm from Omaha, which is the home of the CWS, and I do watch a little baseball with my dad, so my knowledge pool isn't totally dry when it comes to this topic, but I did take some artistic liberties with the fic anyway!

So, if you're looking for some summer-ish, frothy Everlark… happy readings!

**6/22/15 I did some pretty heavy revisions on this chapter. While the overall content is the same, I altered conversations and chopped up some of Katniss's obnoxiously long monologues. Hopefully it's all easier to swallow now.

Katniss doesn't know what she's doing here. She doesn't understand baseball, or even like it, to be perfectly realistic.

But her friend, Johanna Mason, had offered up an extra ticket the night before, and since Katniss had no legitimate excuse to stay pent up in her mother's house for the entire afternoon, she tentatively accepted.

So now she's perched in a blue plastic seat, her knees tucked into her chest. Her eyes narrow as they scan the tidal waves of sunburnt, t-shirt-bearing superfans for whatever teams are playing. She yawns. She couldn't care less.

"Try to tone down the excitement," Johanna jokes as she leans over across the arm rest.

Katniss doesn't even bother tilting her head to look at her friend. "I'm here, aren't I? That's a miracle of its own."

"You could at least show some appreciation." She folds her arms across her chest. "To begin with, these are really nice seats. We're in the shade, and we're behind home plate, meaning we get a nice… view. Baseball pants do work wonders, don't they?"

Katniss manages to pipe out a short laugh. "Is that why you're here? Why you dragged me here? To stare at asses all day?"

"I'm a Vanderbilt fan, what can I say?" She shrugs indifferently, but she pointedly avoids the latter half of the question.

Katniss slumps deeper into her chair, her focus fixed on the next batter who saunters up to the plate. His purple jersey does little to hide the corded muscles of his arms, his skin so sun-kissed that she briefly wonders if he's actually a bronze figurine.

She isn't going to waste her breath denying that the baseballer species is just generally attractive. She's a twenty-year-old single college student, so she's surely not unfamiliar with the effects of hormones. But for no reason will she ever admit this to Johanna. She prefers avoiding her friend's harassment at all costs.

Besides, she's just never been as lust-driven as her colleagues. She doesn't know if something's wrong with her, or if it's simply that she's never met the person to turn on all of her switches. She doesn't suppose it matters.

So instead, she searches for something to apply her natural cynicism to, and her eyes flicker up to the massive screen over right field, just as the name Finnick Odair scrolls across the bottom. She crinkles up her nose.

"What kind of name is that?" she sneers, her fingers slipping around the condensation-chilled exterior of her drink.

Johanna laughs. "Dude, there's a lot of weird names on TCU's roster. Texas parents should stop trying to be so creative. I saw the names 'Marvel' and 'Blight' earlier, and then there was one that was a type of bread or something… Pumpernickel, maybe? Poor kid."

Katniss nearly chokes on her Pepsi. "Oh my god."

"But, I can't rag on the parents too much. I swear, every single kid on that team is beautiful. It's like they've popped up straight from a GQ magazine. Or a porno." A sly smirk crosses her lips. "I'd be okay with the latter of the two."

Katniss chokes a little but refuses to react otherwise, returning her attention to the bronze god squared at the plate.

She watches him swing and laughs when he misses. Even before she walked into this ballpark, she decided that since she understands next to nothing about this sport, she would reap her entertainment from the players' mistakes. Her ruthless victimization doesn't prefer one team over the other; she simply likes watching big-headed athletes make asses of themselves.

Katniss knows she's bitter. She has no desire to amend that. She was dragged from a perfectly mundane day of isolation to watch a sport she knows nothing about, simply because she lives in the same town as the CWS and her friend had an extra ticket. She promised (rather reluctantly) that she'd come. But she never pledged to enjoy it by conventional means. She'll do anything to make this afternoon remotely bearable, and if that requires finding joy at the expense of the players' egos, then so be it.

When the Odair character strikes out, she takes a celebratory sip of her Pepsi before turning to her friend.

"One more down. How many left?"

Johanna laughs. "Jesus, Everdeen. It's only the second inning."

"Out of four?" There's a sport with four subdivisions, right? Hockey, maybe? Tennis?

Johanna looks her over, lips quirked in amusement.

"Nine, Brainless."

Katniss's jaw falls open. "And people watch this sport for fun?" She angles her shoulders back to face the infield, trying to decide whether she thinks the fans' endurance is impressive or downright stupid.

Suddenly, Johanna starts giggling.

"Hey, good news—Pumpernickel isn't actually named Pumpernickel!"

Johanna's arm is extended, her finger steering Katniss's focus to the screen. Across the bright pixels, a close-up of the player is displayed, under which threads a boldfaced Peeta Mellark. A small squeak bursts in the back of her throat as she finds herself staring at blue, all blue, oceans and rivers and skies, all funneled into the most beautiful eyes she's ever seen.

And holy jawline.

Her eyes skim over his stats. She sees numbers like .409 and 72 and 18, but she doesn't have a clue what these values mean—what the hell is an RBI? Yet she still feels her palms growing clammy, her throat running so dry she can hardly swallow.

She grits her teeth.

"Please trip over the plate," she says.

And she does. Anything that would wipe that stupid grin off his face. His beautiful, smiling, unfairly symmetrical face. She highly doubts he could be more cocky than the sun-bathed creation batting before him seemed, but there's just something about him that repulses her.

Maybe it's the fact that he doesn't repulse her at all.

Katniss shifts in her seat. "I hope he falls flat on his face."

Johanna chuckles. "I hope he falls flat on my—"

"Go to church," Katniss hisses, smacking her friend's arm.

She tries to keep her face low as Not-Pumpernickel shifts at the plate, the bat held over his shoulder in his large, gloved hands. His body is arched, poised for the oncoming pitch, and from underneath the violet helmet, she can see his blonde hair curling out around the rim.

And Johanna was right about baseball pants. They really do do glorious things, although this player looks like he doesn't need any help.

Katniss glares at the bread-boy as the pitcher first coils, then reels, launching the first pitch through the air. She waits for him to take a clumsy swing, and hopefully face plant. Instead, he only stands still and watches the ball fly by.

The umpire calls a ball, whatever that means, and Katniss huffs.

However, as soon as the next pitch comes slicing toward home plate, the bread-boy swings, and with a melodic crack of metal against leather, the ball is sent up into the blue.

Katniss is mortified when the ball falls short of the wall fencing in center-field, since she'd expected him to send that thing straight over the river to Iowa. But, even though he didn't get a touchdown/field goal/whatever it is, the outfielder is too late for a catch, and she watches in awe as Not-Pumpernickel rounds first, then second, and slides roughly into third just before the ball reaches the third baseman.

He stands, brushing his gloves over his dirt-drenched pants, and Johanna leans over to whisper something probably crude in her ear, but she's not listening. She's calculating, judging—it's what she does best, as silence is her preferred trade, and she has to fill it with something—and she notices that he's a little shorter than most of the other players, his shoulders broad and squared as he levels himself on third.

There's a strange heat pooling in her core as she studies him, visually memorizing his sharp angles and his soft edges, and she squeezes her thighs together to either banish or sate the sensation. She's not sure which she would prefer.

Damn Johanna for taking her to this stupid game.

When the ninth inning comes to a close, Katniss is vaguely aware of which team won. The entire game had been filled with her fighting lead-weighted eyelids, her interest only piquing when the blonde-haired TCU player moseyed up to the plate. Although, as it turns out, bread-boy was the catcher, meaning whenever his team wasn't up to bat, he was still directly in her line of vision anyway. Johanna, naturally, made some vulgar joke about squatting that Katniss emphatically batted away.

By the time the players do their customary beelines across the field to shake hands with the other players, the sun's beginning to sink behind the ballpark, and Katniss moves to get out of her seat. But Johanna clasps her wrists.

"Patience, young Padawan. We need to stay a bit."

Katniss groans. "Why on earth would we want to stay in this goddamn ballpark any longer?" She has a delicious cup of ramen noodles and the entire third season of Sherlock left on Netflix, just waiting for her at home.

"I need at least one picture with a player. Unlike you, I was actually rooting for a team… not just for every player to make an ass of himself."

Katniss counts sheep in her head as they wait, then file up to the main floor to do even more waiting. One sheep, two sheep, three sheep…

After what feels like at least 72 hours, and she's lost track of the thousands of sheep prancing across her head, Katniss spots a few Vanderbilt players posing with some fans. She turns to her side to see Johanna eyeing something in the opposite direction.

"Your boys are over there," Katniss deadpans, pointing toward the men in black and gold baseball caps.

Without even so much as turning her head to acknowledge the Vanderbilt players, Johanna shoots back, "And your boy is over there." Her index is directed behind Katniss, and after tweaking a brow, she whirls around to see what Johanna is motioning toward.

Her throat runs dry.

Next to the bronze sculpture stands the blonde boy, his curls flipping adorably out from underneath his backward baseball cap. Sandwiched between them is a young girl of about eight, purple facepaint streaked across her face as her parents take a photograph of the trio.

Katniss gulps. "I'll just wait here while you get your obligatory picture."

"Nah, I have something more fun in mind." There's a conspiratorial twinkle in Johanna's brown eyes, and bringing the taste of bile up Katniss's her throat. She doesn't even have time to usher a frantic don't.

Johanna goes bounding in the opposite direction of the Vanderbilt players.

Katniss is frozen in place, absolutely mortified with her friend, a thousand curse words she didn't even know she knew bobbling around in her head. Her cheeks are probably three shades darker than a tomato, her eyes wide in horror.

As Johanna speaks, the greek god eyes Johanna's Vanderbilt getup, but Not-Pumpernickel responds with a nod and a crooked smile. Katniss considers hightailing it straight out of the ballpark, but by the time she's convinced herself to do it, Johanna and the two TCU players are within spitting distance.

Damn.

"So Peeta, Finnick, this is my friend, Katniss," Johanna says, motioning to Katniss, who's as rigid as a lamp post.

Finnick takes position at her side almost immediately. "What a pleasure to meet you, Katniss. Beautiful name for a beautiful girl."

She's not quite sure what face she must've made at him, but Peeta steps toward her, his arm extended and his smile apologetic yet still so impossibly warm. It makes her stomach flip. Although she wants it to be, the feeling isn't necessarily uncomfortable.

"Sorry about Finn," he says. "He's a little… upfront." His hand is still hanging steadily in the air for her to take. Against her better judgment, she does, and the moment their palms align a shock pulses between them. Any possible cocktail of words fizzles in the back of her throat, leaving her jaw slack. Katniss has never been the most articulate of people, but even for her, this is pathetic.

"And Katniss is a little shy," Johanna chuckles, playfully nudging Peeta as if they're old friends.

Katniss scoffs. "Hopelessly," she mutters sarcastically under her breath. She hadn't intended for anyone to hear it, but Peeta must've – he chuckles, the sound sending tingles from her head to her toe. His laugh is beautiful.

"Alright, you three," Johanna says, prepping her camera as the two players shuffle closer to Katniss. Both boys wind their arms around her, chastely holding her by her waist, but Peeta's fingers curl around her more securely. His thumb brushes over the fabric of her t-shirt, causing goosebumps to flurry across her back and neck.

She can't help but wonder if the touch was intentional. She also can't help but wonder why the hell she doesn't want give his jaw a vicious uppercut.

Dear God, could she actually be attracted to this guy? She'd always assumed she just wasn't wired to have a normal romantic capacity. She was best friends with Gale Hawthorne for ten years and they shared nothing beyond one really awkward, really sloppy kiss that they both immediately regretted. Katniss always thought she was defective or something.

But the symptoms she's facing now—like the heat in her stomach, the pounding in her chest—suggest otherwise.

All because of the past sixty seconds she's spent with Not-Pumpernickel over here.

She hates him for this.

Suddenly, both Finnick and Peeta release their grasps on her, Peeta doing so a little more measuredly than his counterpart.

"I'm going to see if someone will take my picture with the Vanderbilt players," Johanna says, pulling down her camera.

Katniss frowns. "I can take the picture for y—"

"No, you can stay here." She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. Before Katniss can whine in protest, she's bounding past them, leaving her friend stranded.

Although she knows it'd be courteous to at least thank the players, Katniss is frozen in place. She tries to move her jaw, but it feels like it's been wired shut.

She almost gasps in relief when she hears a musical chuckle at her side.

"You didn't really want a picture, did you?" Peeta says good-naturedly. He lifts his hand to wipe the beaded sweat from his forehead, and his cheeks are tainted pink (whether from embarrassment or sun exposure, she's unsure) but his smile is genuine.

She manages to shake her head, angling her shoulders toward Peeta just as a young boy asks Finnick for a picture; he leaves the Peeta alone with Katniss.

She gulps. She doesn't think she can do this.

"It's not that," she says uneasily, lifting a finger to toy with the end of her braid. "I'm just… I don't know. I'm not the biggest baseball fan."

"I'll try not to take it personally," he jokes, a dimple hollowing into his left cheek. She notices his smile is naturally lopsided, but it's still… cute. Really cute. And friendly.

"Don't," she finds herself saying back, her tone significantly lighter than she'd expected. "It's not like I have a vendetta against baseball. I'm just really clueless when it comes to sports—well, aside from track. I did that in high school."

Her cheeks blaze. Since when does she actually converse?

But he doesn't seem to notice her discomfort, his eyes flickering brighter. "Me, too! That, and wrestling. And baseball, of course. Perks of going to a small school, right? You get to do literally anything and everything."

"I wouldn't know," she says, folding her arms. "I had six hundred in my graduating class."

"Yikes." He scratches the back of his head. "Where'd you go to high school, then?"

He's just trying to make friendly conversation, she tells herself, but it's still unbelievable. Why is someone like him giving someone like her the time of day? "Here. In Omaha."

"You go to school here, too?"

"Out in Lincoln, yeah. It's just an hour away."

"It must be nice being so close to home," he says, a nostalgic smile whispering over his lips. "I grew up in Illinois, and I ended up all the way down in Texas for college. It's been a nice way to get my toes wet, but there are still so many days when…" Something ghosts through his irises, and he immediately rebounds with an apologetic grin. "I'm sorry, I have an awful habit of rambling—you probably don't want to hear my entire life story."

She surprises herself by telling him, "I don't mind."

He looks at her like she's a lottery ticket, and somehow, she manages to grin back.

But before he can respond, Finnick's baritone pierces the air. "Mellark, I need you over here!"

Peeta's offers him a curt nod before turning back to Katniss. "Well, I guess my life story can wait. It was wonderful meeting you, Katniss." The way his tongue rolls around her name causes heat to shimmer through her entire body, almost as if she's been electrified.

"You, too." She knows she means it.

She's not quite sure what they're supposed to do next—shake hands? Hug? Awkwardly walk away and play strangers?—and so she's thankful when he does all the work, lifting a hand to brush her upper arm. His thumb delicately sweeps over her flesh, and he gifts her with one more of his dimpled, crooked smiles.

The second his hand leaves her arm, she feels cold, even in this ninety-five degree heat.

Just as he's turning around, Johanna flashes up at his side, her hands finding purchase on his shoulder as she whispers something in his ear. Katniss tenses, both anger and confusion feathering in her nerves. The sentiment only flares brighter when Peeta turns his head to look at Johanna, giving her friend the same smile he'd given her just moments ago. But then he turns to look at her, his blue-eyed gaze arching over her once more, and he offers up half-wave before joining Finnick and a few fans.

"What was that?" Katniss snaps one Johanna meets up with her, anger flashing in her silver glare.

"What was what? Me leaving you with a really attractive baseballer, or me talking to him?"

Now that she mentions it, both.

Katniss is seething, her jaw coiled too tight and her thoughts too tangled to throw together a decent reply. Johanna just giggles. "First of all, you should be thanking me, not grilling me. The boy's cute, and it looked like you two had a nice, healthy conversation. You don't have enough of those."

"It was awkward!" Katniss hisses.

"It was cute! He seemed actually impressed with you, from what I saw. Every time I looked over here, the kid couldn't take his eyes off you."

"He was just being polite."

Johanna coughs, "Or interested, maybe?"

Now that the high of her interaction with Peeta is wearing off, Katniss is livid. "It doesn't matter," she fizzles through gritted teeth. "He lives all the way down in Texas, Jo. I'm literally never going to see him again."

Something flashes over Johanna's face, and Katniss scowls. "What?"

But she just shakes her head. "Nothing, nothing. Don't mind me."

"Actually, I do mind you. Do you like watching me squirm? Is it some kind of joke to you?"

"Loosen up, Brainless." She rolls her eyes. "Seriously, I was trying to do you a favor. You don't have enough wholesome interaction as is. Hell, I think the only person you talk to anymore is me, and we all know I'm as far from wholesomeas you can get."

"That's for sure," Katniss growls, even though she knows Johanna's right. Katniss doesn't have enough healthy interaction, period.

But what's so wrong with that? It's how she likes it. She's naturally an introvert and would much rather spend her time in her room or walking along a nature trail or something alone than wasting her afternoon at a ballpark, briefly chatting up a player she'll never see again. That's just who she is. She likes lonely. She likes low expectations and calm settings and fresh air and solitude. She always has.

Johanna's eyes smolder and soften, growing sympathetic as she touches her friend's arm almost exactly as Peeta had moments before. "Look. I'm sorry if I ruined your already pedestrian day, but I'm just trying to help you."

Katniss exhales. "I know."

"And I like pissing you off. It's more interesting than any damn baseball game could be." Her thin fingers wrap around her arm. "Come on, pal. Let's go shake it off at Sae's."

Now this is an offer she can't contest. If Katniss isn't holed up in her bedroom, or lounging out on some high branch of an oak tree, she's almost always there.

Grunting in consent, she lets her friend drag her away. Katniss only looks back fleetingly, silver meeting blue in a flash of the crowd, two shy smiles exchanged before she stumbles out of view.

She sighs, mentally damning Johanna yet again or taking her to this stupid game.

They've been at the bar for just under an hour when Katniss nearly goes into cardiac arrest.

Johanna's finger is swirling absentmindedly around the rim of her cocktail—she's already twenty-one and can drink legally, while Katniss still has several months to go—when the bell over the front door of the tavern jingles. There's been a steady flow of bar-goers all night, so Katniss intuitively dismisses the sound as she presses her lips to her water glass.

At least, she doesn't think twice about it until her friend begins to chuckle.

"Well, would you look at what the cat dragged in."

Katniss tangles her feet in the wooden legs of her stool, spinning around to follow Johanna's pointed stare. Just inside the door, a bronze divinity and his friend with sunshine for curls survey the venue.

The choking sound Katniss makes draws their attention to the bar, and almost immediately, the boy with the cosmic irises grins.

What are they doing here? At her bar?

The boys are standing in front of her and Johanna before she can even catch her breath. They've both showered off since their last encounter, sporting dark-wash jeans and clean shirts; Katniss gulps as she studies Peeta's physique, his knit grey shirt tight around his biceps, stretching over his broad shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. From where she's sitting, his curls look so soft, flopping loosely over his ears; his are eyes bright under long lashes, smile as genuine and captivating as ever.

She struggles to suppress a humiliatingly inhuman sound.

"Ladies, it's wonderful to run in to you again," Finnick says, resting a hand on the countertop beside Johanna.

As soon as he speaks, every drop of sentimentality vanishes. She glares at him, feeling suddenly territorial over the bar. She feels invaded. This is her place, the place that she introduced to Johanna a few years back. It doesn't belong to wandering outsiders.

But then, her gaze flickers to Peeta, whose eyes are wide in caution. "Mind if we join?" He speaks to both girls, but his gaze doesn't leave Katniss. Her fingers nervously find her braid.

Well, at least he asked permission.

Katniss is thankful when Johanna pipes up to fill the silence, welcoming the men. Finnick takes the stool on the other side of Johanna, and Katniss is momentarily relieved with his distance, but suddenly, Peeta slips into the seat beside her, and she feels her throat rapidly constricting.

Oh, god. She wonders if she's about to have an asthma attack. She doesn't have asthma, but she's already beginning to show symptoms, so she's on the verge of self-diagnosis when—

"Are you okay?"

Peeta's expression is knit with concern, his body angled slightly toward her as he frowns.

It takes her a few seconds to remember how to breathe, but once she finally does, the rush of cool air down her windpipe alleviates some of the heat in her cheeks and forehead; she manages a nod.

"Yeah. Just a little, uh… surprised, I guess."

His frown deepens. "Finn and I can leave if you're uncomfortable, Katniss."

She shakes her head ferociously. "No, it's—it's fine." She looks over her shoulder to see Johanna laughing while Finnick cards through his hair. "I don't want to interrupt the lovebirds over there."

"I don't think they're quite lovebirds," he chuckles. "Believe it or not, Finnick actually has a girlfriend back home. She's got him wound so tightly around her finger I'm surprised he hasn't suffocated himself yet. She's such a sweetheart, and he's head over heels for that girl… wouldn't trade her for anything in the entire world. But he's just a natural flirt, you know? Doesn't mean anything by it—it's mostly harmless. Well, as long as your friend over there can handle his intensity…. sometimes he takes it a bit too far, but he never does so intentionally, I swear. He's a good guy."

Grooving her elbow against the countertop, she rests her cheek on her hand. Although he's a hopeless rambler, and she hates to admit this… the way he speaks is modestly charming.

"If anyone can handle him, it's Johanna. The girl's crafty – I'll give her that."

"If there's one thing I've learned about Johanna in the five minutes I've ever spent around her, it's that she's pretty damn devious."

Katniss tweaks a brow, parting her lips to ask exactly what he means by that, but they're interrupted by a voice on the opposite side of the bar.

"Well, Miss Everdeen, you've got yourself quite a handsome date," Sae laughs, wrinkles webbing from the corners of her eyes as she leans over the counter.

Katniss is sure she's beet red from head to toe. "He's not my d—"

"Hush, girl. Just pretend for me." She looks briefly to Peeta, who has a blush of his own curling below his cheekbones, before her stare returns to Katniss. "Now, introduce me to your date, dear."

Katniss adores the woman too much to ignore her. "This is Peeta. He, uh… he's in town for the CWS. He plays for TCU."

Sae blinks a few times, her leathery lips falling open. "What a catch, girl!"

Katniss's ears burn. "Peeta, this is Sae. She's been my neighbor my whole life, and she owns the bar. Please don't listen to a word she says—she's like my grandmother. She personally holds herself accountable for humiliating me."

Peeta releases one of his musical chuckles, stretching his hand over the bar. "It's nice to meet you, Sae. I would tell you Katniss has told me all about you, but I literally met her an hour and a half ago."

Sae takes his peace offering, shaking his hand firmly. "She doesn't talk much, anyway. But don't be fooled by her hard shell; deep down, she's got a really kind heart."

"I'm right here, Sae," Katniss growls, hopefully fierce enough balance out the red in her cheeks.

"Like I said, deep down." Sae laughs warmly. "Anyway, what can I get for you, young man?"

Peeta looks hopelessly at the unopened menu between his arms, his gaze shooting frantically to Katniss. "Any recommendations?"

"You have to try the macaroni and cheese. It's legendary."

He claps his hands together. "Well, the mac n' cheese sounds lovely."

"And to drink?"

"Just a water would be good." He hands her the menu, and turns back to Katniss. "I'm banking on your recommendation, Miss Everdeen. I'm absolutely starving."

"It won't let you down."

"No," he says, his tone huskier than before as he looks her over. "I don't suppose it will."

Something in his gaze makes her body feel like a sack of feathers. Her face is hot, tingly, and she looks to her knees, her fingers toying with the end of her braid.

She almost topples off the stool when Peeta's hand suddenly grazes hers, gently drawing it from her hair. "You do that a lot," he murmurs. "Play with your braid, I mean."

She feels herself bristle at his comment, chest tightening. "So what?"

"It's not a bad thing," he says, his voice warm and placating. "It's just a nervous tick, isn't it?"

She nods.

"Hey, it's fine. I have them, too. I chew on the inside of my cheek or my lip. If it makes you feel better, then so be it, I just… I don't want you to feel uncomfortable around me."

There it is, that word again. Uncomfortable. She can't help but wonder… is she uncomfortable? She knows she's anxious, surely, but that's simply because he's a boy, a cute boy, a really, really, really cute boy, and he's giving her the time of day in a way hardly anyone has before. Certainly not someone with a status as gold-leaf as his. And it doesn't help that she's never been good with flirting or communicating or even trusting before – she never lets her walls down, too afraid that she'll get hurt.

But maybe, just maybe, she could allow her guard down just this one time, because Peeta is good. He must be. He's good, and he's kind, and he makes her smile which is a triumph of its own. She's twenty years old; it's about time she just enjoyed herself. Just this once.

It doesn't seem like that'd be too difficult with Peeta, anyway.

She pulls extricates herself from her thoughts, taking a deep breath.

"I don't—I'm not uncomfortable," she manages quietly. "I'm just… not good at this."

"Not good at what?"

"Informality, I guess." She shrugs. "And all that jazz."

He doesn't seem to be deterred by her, which is a first; he only leans in closer, the fingers that had been grazing her palm furrowing deeper, taking her hand in his. She's startled when she doesn't even attempt to retract from his grasp.

"We don't have to do 'all that jazz,' not if you don't want to. I just—forgive me for being blunt, Katniss, but I like you. I want to talk to you. To get to know you a little." Then the corners of his mouth twist up. "And, of course, I have to tell you my life story, since I was going to do that earlier before I was interrupted."

She sighs. It seems easy enough. Safe enough.

"Okay," she concedes.

And so they do what he wanted, what she wanted—they talk. It's oddly simple with Peeta, as if the boy was put on this earth just to make conversation. For the most part, he supplies the dialogue, and she supplies her attentive ears, but he does stir her with questions, which she answers willingly. She tells him she's a Biology major, she has a little sister, her favorite color is green, she's lived in this town her whole life, she hates having her hair down. In turn, he swamps her with his own stories. He tells her that he's played baseball since he was five, his parents own a bakery, his favorite color is orange (but not construction-cone or Texas Longhorn orange – more like a hue you'd see during a sunset), he's an ace cake decorator, he loves to paint, he's an Art major (although his mother refuses to accept that, claiming it's not a real degree), and he has two brothers.

In many ways, he's her flagrant opposite, but she doesn't mind. He's the voice to her silence, the imagination to her rationality, the smile to her poker-face, the John Watson to her Sherlock, the Apollo to her Artemis. He's her counterpart. He's her compliment.

And he's as brilliant, as blindingly radiant as the sun.

They hardly pay any mind to Johanna and Finnick, who are in their own little drunken, giggling realm. Peeta and Katniss have been chatting for nearly an hour, and her reservations are nearly as expended as his macaroni – they're both well-fed in every sense. For the first time in ages, she feels nourished, nurtured by this healthy contact.

She can't help but wonder why she'd wanted to push him away in the first place.

But once he says what they've both been dreading, she suddenly remembers exactly why.

"I should probably get Finnick back to the hotel," he murmurs. "You know, before he either passes out or takes to projectile vomiting."

Something in her chest plummets. She forces herself to nod. "Same for Jo."

"I'll walk you two to your car, alright?" he says with a sad smile.

"I'd like that."

After paying Sae, she slings her arm around Johanna's waist, managing to steer her staggering friend out to the parking lot with Peeta and Finnick close behind.

Darkness sheathes them as head into the night, the muted sounds of faint traffic and cricket chirps echoing off the pavement. She feels something in her chest burning. The world around her is just as it's always been, the sky the same one she sees from her window every night. This city is hers. This air is hers. This night is hers.

But the golden-haired boy standing with his friend just feet from Johanna's sedan is not hers, and he doesn't belong here. This isn't his world.

She'd give anything for it to be. She'd play Ariel, sacrificing the singing voice Peeta will never hear so that he doesn't have to leave her. It doesn't matter that they've only known each other a few hours; there are still so many secretes she's never wanted to tell anyone, yet wants to tell him, because she's never felt like this. She's never felt this bourgeoning hope, blooming inside her heart like a dandelion. A beautiful weed.

Peeta's different. Different than anything. Different from her in every way, which is what makes it right.

Once Johanna's slumped safely in the passenger's seat, she slams the door, leaning against the car as she rubs her temples. What is wrong with her? She's never been like this before. Never been so… so weak. So needy.

She hates herself for it, but she finds she can't hate him, because nothing on this earth could make her hate the boy that caused her to blossom.

After Finnick's been propped against the light pole, Peeta meets Katniss by the car door.

"Katniss, I—" He smiles at her, the wistfulness hazing his blue eyes into dark seas. She feels it, too. "I had an incredible time tonight."

"So did I."

He shuffles on his feet, frowning as his eyes fall to the concrete, and he gulps, obviously fighting for the right words. For the first time tonight, the boy's silver tongue falters.

And then he chuckles. "You'll have to thank Johanna for me."

Katniss frowns. "What?"

"She's the reason I got to see you again."

She stares at him blankly; he smiles at her, touching her braid.

"After I said goodbye to you at the ballpark, she came up to me and told me that you two would be here, at Sae's, if I wanted to come see you again. It was crazy, and I had no idea how she knew, but… I'm glad she did that. I'm glad I got to know you."

So that's what Johanna had whispered in Peeta's ear. But her frown doesn't ebb, a few of his words clinging to the front of her mind. "You had no idea how she knew what?"

He smiles guiltily at her.

"She knew I was attracted to you. That I wanted to see you, even if it would end like this."

Well, at least the boy's blunt.

Unsure of what to say, she lets her gaze fall, her fingers lifting to fiddle with her braid. Suddenly, Peeta's hand is on hers again to tow it away, but instead of bringing it to her side like expected, his fingers leave hers so that he can cup his palm around her jaw, his calloused palms like satin on her skin, and she leans into his touch.

"Why do I make you so nervous?" he breathes.

He doesn't get it, does he?

There are a million things Katniss could say. Because you're kind. Because you're handsome. Because you had twenty-thousand people watching you play ball earlier today. Because no one is like you. Because you make me feel special. Because you make me feel wanted. Because I had a wonderful time tonight. Because it doesn't matter. Because I won't see you after this week. Because I won't see you after tonight. Because you're on a track to greatness. Because I'm nothing.

But Katniss has never been good with words, and this moment surely won't prove to be an anomaly. Even so, she manages to synthesize all her fears, all her worries into one simple phrase, a string of four words that sums up everything and nothing all the same.

"Because I want you," she whispers.

Her eyes catch his, silver melting into blue, blue melting into silver.

But it's not enough. It can't be enough, it won't ever be enough, and she knows that.

He knows it, too. And, as always, Peeta's the daring one, testing the waters and dragging her in with him. His other hand splits the dark to meet her cheek, both palms bracketing her face, and in one swift movement his lips are on hers. His purpose is clear, but the kiss is so impossibly gentle that she feels herself quiver, reduced to boneless mess, so she frantically clutches the fabric of his shirt to anchor herself to him.

The voice in her head sputters, cutting through the labyrinth of her mind that seems to be made of nothing but dead-ends, and she feels hopelessly lost, and hopelessly confused, but when she feels his lips part slightly, his breath filling her lungs, her mind suddenly calms.

One of his hands slides from her cheek to her waist to hold her in place, cradling her against him, and suddenly, something inside her clicks. She presses her mouth more deliberately against his, her clutch tightening on his shirt, and she hears a soft moan in the back of his throat. It only emboldens her. At once, she is not the shy girl playing fretfully with her braid. She is not the girl avoiding Peeta's gaze. She is not the girl hiding from him, from everyone, from herself.

She is the girl on fire.

Kissing Peeta fans her embers, her flame burning brighter and higher, and she lifts her fingers to tangle them in Peeta's curls. He responds ardently, his mouth still gentle on hers but less cautious, and somewhere in the midst of their desperate sighs and tightening grips, he tells her, "I want you, too. So much."

She has never felt so alive.

But all too soon, Peeta draws back, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone as he smiles down at her. "You're beautiful, Katniss Everdeen. You know that?"

Her stomach vaults in triumphant cartwheels.

She smiles.

Instead of bringing his lips back to hers like she wants, he softly presses them to her forehead, then her cheek, then the tip of her nose.

She smolders.

"I should get going."

She shatters.

All she can do is nod, swallowing the ache in her chest—after all, she is an expert at steeling herself. "Me, too. Before Johanna barfs all over the upholstery."

Peeta laughs, but it's hardly as musical as before, and she can see his own distress behind his smile. She wants to be angry, or irritated, or anything else she's well-equipped with handle, but she simply can't do it. She can't be angry with Peeta. And somehow, she can't be angry with herself, because she wouldn't take this back.

It's an odd feeling for her. Feeling hurt with nothing to regret, nothing to blame.

She likes Peeta. She can't regret him.

"We can see each other again, while I'm still in town," he tells her quietly, his fingers skimming over the ridges of her braid. "Tomorrow night. The night after that. If we keep winning… I could be here over the weekend, Katniss. We can see each other then. I don't want…"

He doesn't have to finish.

She braids her fingers in the soft down at the nape of his neck, and his jaw hardens as he gazes down at her, his smile twisted with ache.

"I'll see you again, Katniss." It sounds too much like a question.

She's never been good at praying, but in this moment, she prays he's right.

They exchange phone numbers, followed by a quick kiss, and then one more, and then two, before he opens the car door for her to slide in. She rolls down the window, and he bows over for a moment, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

When he leans in to press his lips to hers one more time, she murmurs into his mouth, "Stay with me."

When he pulls back, he offers her a sad smile, and unlike nearly every other moment they've spent together, he takes to silence.

Her eyes are stinging, her throat thick and throbbing as she revs the engine and pulls out. Although she can see him watching her through her peripheries, she refuses to look at him, her entire resolve turning to stone. If she catches those eyes one more time, she'll shatter all over again, and Katniss will do anything to avoid such a fate.

However, as she's exiting the parking lot, she does spare him one glance through the review mirror, and although he's since helped Finnick off the pavement, his body is still angled toward the sedan.

He gives her a half-wave, much like the one he'd gifted her with at the ballpark, and she can't help but feel an inkling of hope that he'll surprise her again, like he had tonight. That he'll keep surprising her. That he'll keep coming back.

She's not accustomed to operating under hope, but for Peeta, she figures it's worth a shot.

As they drive down the darkened street, Johanna stirs at her side.

"I may be drunk, but I'm not deaf."

"Go to sleep, Jo."

Deliberately defying Katniss's directive, Johanna shifts in her seat, straightening up a little. "I heard everything back there. You're not a quiet kisser, you know."

"Shut up."

Through the corner of her eyes, Katniss can see Johanna smiling. "The boy likes you," she sighs.

Her heart aches and leaps simultaneously. How is that possible?

She doesn't say anything, but oddly, her silence seems so inappropriate now.

A thick quiet fills the car, but eventually, Johanna punctures it with a low chuckle. "You can thank me now, you know."

"Hmm?"

"For setting this whole shebang up," she laughs, following up with a hiccup. "I told Peeta where I'd be taking you, and that's why he was there. Because of me, Kat. Call me Cupid."

Katniss squares her jaw. "There are a lot of other names I could call you, too, you know, and none of them are so kind."

"Stop acting like you have a stick up your butt, Katniss," she slurs, her words slightly dragged together. "You had a good time tonight. I know you did. You kept laughing with Peeta and you never laugh, Katniss. Never."

A ghost of a smile traces over her lips, but she says nothing.

"I know it's a little sad that you'll never see him again after next week—" Katniss winces—"but it's okay. You had a good time tonight, Katniss. You let your hair down—well, figuratively. I think your hair is permanently yanked up in that tight little braid of yours, but… you know…" She frowns. "What was I saying?"

Katniss lets out a humorless chuckle. "It doesn't matter."

Johanna, suddenly confused, slumps back in her seat.

After a few moments, she belches loudly, finally continuing on her previous train of thought. "All I'm saying, Brainless, is that it's going to be alright. You were brave and you opened up to someone you would normally shove right into a pile of mud and I think that's a pretty damn big step in the right direction, don't you? You're growing, Kitty-Kat."

"Don't call me that."

"Then smile, Katniss. You met a pretty stellar dude tonight who thinks you're just the bees knees. There's hope for you."

Katniss turns her head briefly to give her a grotesquely fake smile, and Johanna just laughs, sagging even further. Within a minute, she's snoring.

Even though Johanna is an annoying drunk, she's never been short of insight, and despite her desire to toss everything her friend had said aside, she can't.

Johanna was right. Even though Katniss will walk away from this night alone, with nothing but a phone number tethering her to Peeta Mellark, she can't regret a single second of it. Not when she met someone who made her smile, helped her break her shell, and taught her how to hope.

As the stars sweep over the roof of her car, and her friend stirs quietly in the passenger's seat, Katniss feels her shoulders relax.

She touches her lips and finds a smile there.

The grossly overdue second part will be arriving within the next couple of days! I'm cross-posting to AO3, but the version of part 2 I'll be posting there will probably be rated 'M.' I'll stay true to the rating I originally posted on this site, though, and keep the one here all nice and wholesome. It's up to you which one you read. :)

In the meantime, come find me on Tumblr at the-peeta-pocket!