So, does this place Katniss works actually exist? I have no idea. Most likely not, as I completely made it up... There might be somewhere similar though - In my head, I see it kind of like the Cheesecake factory from The Big Bang Theory. :)

Thank you for the reviews on my previous chapter. :)


11 months later.

I've never liked the staff room at Trinkets. Practically everything from floor to ceiling is mahogany: the table, the chairs, the chest of draws that are stuffed with spare employee clothing. If it were possible, I bet Effie would make the world out of rich mahogany wood.

Me? I prefer light and bright, not the stale smell of rotting frame work.

Oh no, don't get me wrong. Trinkets is a wonderful diner, it's just falling apart at the seams - kind of like the people who work there. Except I'm as tough as old boots, or at least that what I tell myself.


I'm just tying my white frilly apron round my waist, when Jo comes bustling through the back staff door.

"JOHANNA MASON, IS THAT YOU?" Effie screeches from the realms of the kitchens.

"Shit." She mumbles. "Brainless, how late am I?"

"About 20 minutes." I say bluntly. "What took you so long?"

"Well, Thom came over last night. And let me tell you, make up se-"

I cover my ears with my hands and being to hum loudly.

"Ugh, I don't want to know."

"If you weren't such an emotionless, pathetic excuse for a teenager, you might." She tells me, winking as she walks past.

"I'm not emotionless. Nor am I pathetic." I argue, folding my arms over my chest.

"Oh my god. My name is Katniss and I am 19 years old. I've never had a boyfriend before, been kissed or been asked out in any way. The only social life I have is when watch movies with my 15-year-old sister!" She says attempting to mock my voice, jumping up and down while clapping her hands. "Yeah Brainless, you're definitely a party animal."

I scowl, pursing my lips before settling them in a straight line. Thousands of retorts run through my mind, sitting on the tip of my tongue. I swallow them, turn and walk away. I hear a glimpse of her cackling laughter before the door shuts and her daily battle with Effie begins.

On the other side, where multiple families sit enjoying their late morning breakfasts, the pair's shouts are inaudible over the customer's conversations. Over the sea of tables, I spy Madge sitting idly at the bar.

I walk over to her, my anger at Johanna still pulsing through my veins like another heartbeat. She, of course, spots this a mile off and offers up a sad smile.

I met Madge on my first day working here. Although we're the same age, she was the one who trained me. With her being Effie's niece, she's worked here part-time from the age of 12. Now, at 19, we're both here up to 8 hours a day, 6 days a week. Aside from when necessary, we never really spoke.

Both of us hated the circumstances that made us work here. For Madge, it was her parents made her. But I had no choice; it was that or starve to death.

Over the course of the past few years, an unlikely friendship grew. Though neither of us were particularly talkative, we had a silent agreement to eat together and sit with each other during breaks. It worked well.

Over time, we began to trust each other.

She moved out of her family home when she turned 18 and asked me to join her, needing help with the rent and bills. She was only female friend that actually liked me, I said yes. Johanna joined us months later, needing somewhere to stay and staking claim to our spare room.

It was only when she met my childhood friend Gale, that things changed with Madge.

She grew.

Now, she's talkative and bold. Sarcastic and witty.

Maybe that has something to do with living with Johanna, but there is something about her when Gale's in the room. It's completely discussing.

"Let me guess, Jo?" She asks, snapping me from my thoughts.

I nod curtly, not trusting my voice.

From her place on the bar stool, she peers round me to look at the rotor.

"Where am I today?"

"You're with Jo, waiting tables."

"Have you noticed how you're never partnered with her?"

"Yeah, Effie's a fricking genius." I observe.

I turn around to face her again, only to find Gale silently sneaking up behind her. He motions for me to remain quiet, which earns him some rolled eyes while I fold my arms over my chest.

If this was anyone else, Madge would have heard the footsteps. Her hearing is acute. But Gale, he's eerily silent. Always has been, probably always will be.

Gale is my oldest friend; we go back to way before kindergarten. Our fathers worked together, before they were both killed in an accident at the local gas station. Gale and I, being the eldest of our siblings, were forced to try to help raise our families. Cramming in as much as possible alongside school, before it all became too much. Eventually, we had to drop out. I worked here, while Gale decided to build his own business.

At the time, I thought he was crazy.

"You need the money now though Gale." I'd say.

"But long-term, it works!"

"Your family is slowly starving!"

"What? You think you have to remind me? You think I can't see it with my own eyes?"

Even now, 5 years later, I still think he was crazy. However much I hate to admit it though, his plan did work out better. He has money saved, his own flat, a healthy family with more than enough food in their stomachs. Then, there's me. I get just enough to pay my rent, and contribute to my sister's life.

If I hadn't moved out, things might be better. But I couldn't live with my mother. She forgot she had children when my father died. The number of nights we went without food, stomachs painfully empty as we faked sleep. Just listening.

She would cry every night. Wake screaming for him to run, just like Prim and I often find ourselves doing too, even now.

The book he was reading before he died, lies on the nightstand, untouched. His toothbrush sits in the bathroom.

There were too many memories.

Loss. Pain. Betrayal. Envy. Hatred. Longing.

Hope.

I come around from my thoughts, to find that I missed what seemed to have been a big romantic gesture. Her arms are locked around his neck, as a bouquet of white and red roses is in one of her hands. Their lips are connected, devouring the others.

"Ah geez." I mumble, silently moving as far back as the wall allows.

I spot Johanna emerging from the back room. She catches my eye and pretends to stick her fingers down her throat and gag, motioning to the pair.

Despite myself, I smile.

The thing about Johanna is, you can't stay mad at her. And I hate her for it.

"Miss Undersee; I pay you to work, not to eat your boyfriend's face." Effie scolds, hitting the surface next to them with a mass load of menus. "Think of the customers."

They don't even flinch, they only move their faces inches apart.

"You got me in trouble," She states, narrowing her eyes."On our Anniversary too."

"I'll make it up to you." He replies, before moving his mouth down towards her ear.
A blush crawls up onto her cheeks at his inaudible words.

Sometimes, I hate Madge more than Johanna. She's corrupted my best friend, turning him into some loved up idiot.

As if hearing my thoughts, Gale looks up.

"You're just jealous, Everdeen."

"Ugh, you wish Hawthorne."

"Ew, no. Gross."

"Oh grow up, the pair of you." Madge fake scolds, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Yes Madge." We chorus, digressing to our younger selves.

"Okay, Effie is going to kill me." She states, unwillingly untangling herself from his side. "Leave. Now."

"Always a pleasure Katniss." He mocks, not even bothering to look at me.

I can't think of a response, so I remain quiet as they say their temporary goodbyes.


The rest of my shift goes by effortlessly. I love being on the bar in the day, because no one in the right mind would drink before 3pm. But of course, Haymitch Abernathy isn't in the right mind.

He and my father worked for the Capitol together a few years back and I now have this misfortune of calling him Uncle Haymitch. My father convinced me to call him so when I was 6, though now I deeply regret it.

I don't quite know what happened to him. The aging man beside me resembles nothing of the one I met 13 years ago. He was young, happy, hopeful and full of life. What we have now is a shell of a human being who drinks away his untold pains.

"When you're ready, Sweetheart." He comments in his deep, gruff voice. Waving his empty glass in the air slightly.

I nod once, getting a clean glass from the shelf and pouring a large amount of whiskey from the bottle.

"Just, give me the bottle."

I'm not given the luxury of replying. He simply grabs it from my hands and begins to down the alcohol.

I can hear Effie mumbling something about manners as she brushes past me. A ghost of a smile works its way up to my face.

"You know," Haymitch mumbles to me, the alcohol slowly taking over his body. "I like you more than the other two."

"Madge and Johanna?"

"Yeah, you don't talk. I like that."

"Neither do you, until you're out of your tree."

"You do need some new metaphors though... Out of your tree? That's Cliché." He scrunches up his nose as he speaks, looking disguised. Maybe he smelt himself.

I have nothing to comment so I remain silent and begin to wipe down the bar front.

I look up in the new found silence of the diner and notice a few groups of children gathering around several of the large windows. I find myself wondering why, but shortly dismiss it.

Before long, a clap of thunder and flash of lightning answer my abandoned question. Rain beats down on the glass, roof and walls, like an out of time drum. People slowly begin filtering in through the doors, escaping the pre-summer rain.

The orders are light, but regular enough to keep me busy. Just the way I like it.

"Katniss?" a voice breaks me from my activities and I find myself rooted to the spot.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I turn around. Facing me, is Peeta.

He stands there in jeans and a white fitted t-shirt that clings to his frame with the rain water. He looks healthier then the day we met. The crutches have gone, the scars on his arms are less pronounced. He stands as though no longer in pain. His blue eyes sparkle against his flushed cheeks and pale skin.

He looks good.

I never had an opinion on my work uniform, but now I find myself hating it. Even though he is wearing similar clothing, I feel under dressed. I'm in black skinny jeans, a plain black shirt and the signature white Trinkets' apron. All of which topped off with a pair of Madge's old, washed out navy converse.

"Peeta, hi." I say, my voice not sounding at all like my own.

The side of his mouth curves up in a slight smile.

"Kat got your tongue Sweetheart?" Haymitch asks from the sidelines, raising an eyebrow as he swings his near empty bottle from left to right. Then he bursts into a fit of laughter, as though he just realised his own joke.

I scowl at him, before turning back to Peeta.

"How are you?"

"I've not fallen over in any more supermarkets, if that's what you're asking."

Without thinking, I smile.

"And yourself?"

"I'm okay."

"Good, I'm glad."

"Um, what can I get you?" I ask, suddenly remembering my job.

"A bottle of water, please."

"Sure."

I begin to busy myself with jobs I did only moments before. Wipe down the bar, replace low stock, wipe down the bar, reset the registers, wipe down the bar.

I spot Haymitch watching me as I do so, before his eyes flit to Peeta. I scowl in his direction briefly, before continuing to work.

After a while, I begin to feel a pair of eyes burning into me. I look up, to find Peeta smiling down at me.

"What?" I ask.

He glances outside the windows before replying.

"Nothing. But I do believe I owe you a coffee."

I smile slightly, looking down at the floor.

"You remember that?"

"Apparently so." He tells me. "So when's your break?"

I look up to the comically sized clock. It reads as twenty past three.

"Not for another thirty-five minutes."

"Take it early, I'll cover for you." A voice chides.

Madge has materialized by my side. I now cannot say no.

"Are you sure?"

"You're covering for me tonight, it only seems fair."

"Oh, okay." I say quietly.

I brush my hands off on my jeans, a habit I picked up when I got nervous, scared or stressed.

"One second." I tell Peeta, as I leave the bar and head towards the staff room.

I glance over my shoulder when I reach the door, catching Madge and Haymitch talking to him in hushed voices.

If they tell him anything, at all, I will kill them.

I begin to move around hurriedly. Discarding my apron, rebraiding me hair. I stop in front of the mirror and look at myself: my tanned olive skin, black hair in the usual braid down my back, small nose and dull gray eyes. I'm not particularly special, or noticeable in any way. My medium height, and child like frame makes me as inconspicuous as they come.

I shake my head, exhaling deeply.

'He's only being nice. There's nothing to it.' I silently tell myself.

With that thought in mind, I step away from the mirror and walk out of the room. Dodging the tables, I make my way back to the bar.

Haymitch looks over at me and winks, as he brings the bottle to his lips for the last dregs. I narrow my eyes, before turning my back on him.

"Hey." Peeta says, looking round at me as he catches my reflection in the back wall.

"You ready?" I ask, feeling too many pairs of eyes on me.

"Yeah, let's go."

"Be back by five!" Madge calls.

Peeta motions for me to walk in front of him, and I do so, with my arms folded over my chest awkwardly. We move in a light silence, as we walk towards a local coffee shop on the corner. The rain, apparently, a thing of the past.

"What was Madge saying?" I ask, my voice sounding harsher than I meant for it to be.

"I asked her why you were covering for her, and she began talking about her boyfriend. Gale, is it? Why do you ask?"

A smile inwardly. That's such a Madge thing to do.

"It's just, people have a knack for," I pause, trying to think of the right word.

"Embarrassing you?"

I nod.

"Something like that."

"I have friends like that."

We fall into a silence, as we wait to cross a road.

"If you're looking for the girl you met in the supermarket, she's not me. Well, it was me. But it wasn't the real me. " My voice cuts into the air.

The cool pre-summer breeze blows my bangs into my face, cutting my vision into strips. I leave them there.

"I'm not looking for anything." He tells me, stopping to free my face from hair.

I smile meekly.

"Katniss, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I say, letting my arms fall limply to my sides. "I'm just not good at making friends."

"It helps if you know a little about the other person."

"You know, I never would have thought that." I joke, as we reach the entrance to Wendy's Cafe.

I go to open the door, but he beats me too it

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

It's vaguely quiet inside, only a few of the tables are occupied.

"What would you like?" He asks, motioning for me to sit and any table I liked

"Uh, hot chocolate?" I answer, choosing one at random.

"Let me guess, you hate coffee?"

"I've never particularly liked it, no."

He chuckles quietly.

"Okay, one second."

I watch him as he orders: he's tall, at least half a head above me, broad shouldered and not unattractive. He has a mop of blond curls that fall in every which way down the nape of his neck, as well as across his forehead. I find myself with the urge to run my fingers through it, brushing it out of his eyes.

I shake the thought from my head.

He catches me staring at him and sticks his tongue out at me. His smile reaches his blue eyes, making him look younger than he actually his. Then I remember, I don't know his actual age.

Our eyes keep meeting from across the room, and I have flashbacks of every cheesy movie both Madge and Prim have ever made me sit through.

It all starts with a crowded setting. Their eyes meet from across the room. Once silent conversation later, they're in love with their own happy ending.

If there is one thing I've learned from life, that is not how it works.

Peeta comes over and places a mug on the table in front of me, breaking me from the thoughts.

"You didn't have to buy me a drink, you know."

"Think of it as payback."

"For helping you off the floor?"

"Exactly."

"Damn, you're easily impressed."

He laughs silently, wrapping his lightly scarred hands around his drink.

"Coffee?" I ask, eyeing the black concoction.

He nods once, as he brings it up to his lips.

"What's your favorite color?" He asks randomly.

One of his legs begins bouncing up and down slightly. I'm about to comment, but I chose to ignore it.

"Green."

"What shade of green?"

"You really like going into detail, don't you?"

"I'm an artist, it's what we do."

I chuckle softly; bringing my own drink to my lips.

"Green, like a forest. What about you?"

"Orange."

"Like the menu?" I ask, holding up the laminated strip of neon puke.

"No," He smiles again. "More muted, like sunset."

I decide I like his smile.

"Okay, for all I know I'm having coffee with some 30 year old woman."

"Dude!" I exclaim, hitting him on the arm with the menu. "I am not 30 years old."

"Hey," he says in mock surrender, holding up his hands. "You look amazing for you age."

"Oh shut up." I say.

I meant to say it with authority, but it comes out light and giggly. What is happening to me?

"So how old are you?"

"19, you?"

"19."

"I'm not even drinking coffee." I find myself mumbling, even though the moment passed.

The rest of the conversations flow easily.

"What's your favorite food?"

"I don't have one."

"How can you not have a favorite food?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Like this." I say, motioning to my now expressionless face.

"You strange, strange girl."

"Well, what's yours?"

"Ah, now I can't answer that."

"Why not?"

"Because you didn't."

"I don't think that's how it works."

Somewhere between the discussion of our ages and what you'd do if you only had 24 hours left to live, my guard slips down. I forget the reason why I distance myself from people. I forget everything.

"What time did you say you'd be back?"

"Five."

"It's ten to, we should probably go."

I find myself feeling disappointed. Strangely enough, I would have sat there all evening. It's nothing like I've ever done before, and I like that.

"Okay." I say, hiding my deflation with my usual blank mask.

He leaves a tip on the table, and leads the way to the door, holding it open for me.

"Thank you, for the coffee."

"You didn't drink coffee." He reminds me, his smile reaching his eyes once more.

I scowl. He laughs.

"You're different from what I'd thought you'd be." He states, his voice dropping in volume.

"Good, different?" I ask, after a moment's pause.

He looks at me like I'm crazy.

"Wonderful, different"

I stare down at my shoes as we walk, smiling.

"Katniss?"

He clears his throat.

"Peeta?"

"Will, will you go on a date with me?" His voice is deep and quite. It turns suddenly vulnerable, as the crowds of the street bustle by.

This has taken a turn I never thought it would. Then again, I never saw myself making friends outside Madge, Gale and Jo. Many voices scream in my head, telling me this is a bad idea. But I silence them.

I'm going to say no. It's for the best.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

The funny thing is, my answer doesn't surprise me.

The smile he gives me so bright and infectious, it causes my smile to become that little more genuine.

If only Johanna could see me now.

I reach into the pocket of my jeans, and find the Biro I use when waiting tables. I grab his hand and quickly scribble my number across the back of it. Without another word, I turn and run over the road and back into the diner.


Unknown Number: Would this be the 30 year old Woman I didn't have coffee with today?

Katniss: Ugh, it's you again.

Peeta: Woah, what a warm welcome.

Katniss: I think you must have me mistaken with another 30 year old.

Peeta: Shame, I liked this one...

Katniss: Oh haha, what's up?

Peeta: Date? Tomorrow?

Katniss: Sure, around 7pm?

Peeta: And you live where?

Katniss: STALKER ALERT.

Peeta: Haha, seriously.

Katniss: Ah, I can't tell you that.

Peeta: Why not?

Katniss: Because you haven't told me where you live. How do I know you're not going to come and kill me in my sleep.

Peeta: You can't use my own humor back at me, that just isn't fair.

Katniss: Says who?

Peeta: Me.

Katniss: Pick me up from 14 Wilson Avenue.

Katniss: Oh, and if you do try to kill me in my sleep, you're the one who will end up dead.

Peeta: Haha, you're probably right about that one.

Peeta: You have until tomorrow to decide on your favorite food. I want to know.

Katniss: Demanding much?

Peeta: I guess I have my moments. :P


Let me know what you think :D