A/N: Hey guys! Next chap! So, this either will only a few chapters or an actual story I'll be working on. So, I just wanted to say, this concept came to me and I hope none of you have ever seen it before. That's what I'm going for. This is something new for me because I have never made any of the plots in my stories remotely canon. Please tell me if you think any of the characters feel OOC. And give me explanation and suggestions. I'd love to fix any mistakes.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Trilogy.

Summary: Guilt. Lie. Truth. Fear. All of this goes through her mind as she looks him right in the eyes. Nothing is wrong. "Nothing." Katniss lies to Peeta on the train, never revealing that it was an act. Catching Fire AU. Rewrite of a few important pieces of dialogue.

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-RC


He notices immediately. He notices the way I shy away from him. He notices the way I stare at him, lost in thought, until he turns to me and I avert my gaze. He notices how I always flush soon after we kiss. And- maybe I'm just imagining things- but I swear that I catch a glimpse of a smile adorning his lips sometimes.

Like he knows.

It freaks me out sometimes. Like he's going to bring it up to me one night when we're alone. Like we are now.

His hand is lazily draped across my waist as we lay together in front of his fireplace. And I feel the warmth against my back. It blazes. My shadow splays over his form, but I'm so small that it could never cover him entirely. One half of his face is covered in darkness, while the other shines bright under the orange hue. He smiles and I gently close my eyes, all thoughts on hold. I nudge closer and for a few moments, I'm content.

It's late and Prim and Mother will worry. But they know I'm over here, so if they really need me back, they can come get me. I wrap a hand around him and burrow into his neck. I breathe against him and gently lull into slumber.

My dreams eventually come back to the same question. Why'd I lie? It occurs to me that maybe I was just being selfish, because being in his arms feels so good. So safe. He makes me feel… nice. It's easier to think ill of myself than to think good of myself.

Being in his arms comforts me.

He puts his arms around me and if feels like home.

But I could never admit that out loud.


When I wake I'm no longer swaddled in in the light warmth. Instead, I find myself in darkness. I sit up slowly, and take in my cold surroundings. It only when I take in the pale morning light that I freeze. The blue. The blue sheets that surround me bring back rushing memories of skin on skin and pleasure that makes my body shudder and dampen my underwear.

I'm in his bed.

I look around the room, it's somewhat dark, but it seems as though the sun has just begun to climb up the horizon. I yawn and step out of the covers, easing onto the cold hard wood flooring. It squeaks in protest as I put all of my weight on it. I exit his bedroom, leaving that feeling behind. I explore the long hallway, looking for him with no success.

As I near the last door, the smell of paint hits me. I find the door cracked open a smidge. With a small push, it opens and reveals all the splatters and colors and messes. All along the walls, paint adorns the surface. It comes in a variety but I notice how much of it is red. I can only imagine what he does with that shade. He has a lot of material.

He's in there, asleep on the small sofa that decorated the once white room. He sighs softly with each exhale, and I just stand in the doorway- watching him. I smile and begin circling the room and looking at his paintings. He never lets me into this room. I'm not sure why. He's amazing. Even they are of something horrid, he has made each scene beautiful.

He focuses on the details of each scene. But not the bad ones. The soft, innocent ones.

I see myself in our cave, the puddle of my blood isn't what he put most thought into. It's obvious. It's how he depicted the moss, how he draws my eye. It's almost as if he puts all of that blood and gore on the back burner, and he pretends that all is fine and well, that he can focus on nature in what seems like a dire moment. When I was pointing my arrow at him in the final moments of the arena, he focuses on my hair and the tears brimming my eye line. Not my bandaged head, or my distraught look.

He's even an optimist in his art.

I'm not prepared when I come across the memory. My loose wave flow in the warm summer breeze as I look at him. Haymitch is in the background, walking away. And I see panic. On my own face. Panic that he caught on to. Panic from what was just said. Panic looking at him, looking for his reaction. He saw my momentary lapse and captured it on canvas. I scrunch my eyebrows and look at the ground.

His groggy words startle me and I quickly turn around, "You're not supposed to be in here." He says it like he's reminding himself more than telling me. He rubs his eyes and truly awakens. He gets up and walks toward me, taking in my expression. He glances behind me at the scene he painted and looks me in the eye once again. He keeps on an unreadable face, and comes closer. His presence affects me and I meet him in the middle, supporting myself against his sturdy chest. He brings his face to my ear, trailing kisses up to my jaw. I sigh pleasurably and close my eyes. When I feel his lips against my ear I shudder, "Something feels wrong about this picture. Doesn't it?" he asks me in a whisper, pulling me closer to him with a hand at my lower back. He draws back into my eyesight and gazes at me intently. I shake my head quickly, telling him no. He smirks and releases me. "Okay." He says, with just a note of disbelief.


"What are you doing, Sweetheart?" Haymitch startles me from my reverie. He looks worried and it isn't his usual sarcastic guidance. He's actually wondering.

I inhale and exhale slowly before responding, "I'm not sure." He sits beside me against the tall oak tree that stands tall in the meadow. "I don't know why I lied to him. I don't know what I'm doing. It's been 5 months and I'm nothing but confused."

"Are you sure you lied?"

I turn on him with sharp eye, "What?" I breathe.

"I'm just saying that I'm probably not the only one who's noticed the way you've been eyeing the boy lately." I looked at him, mortified.

"What?" I ask again, standing quickly and looking down at him, my mouth agape and my eyebrows scrunched together. My cheeks are aflame and he just laughs.

"What do you feel?"

I don't know.

It wasn't all for the games.