A/N: Woot! Update time! Thank you to everyone who reviewed, I got over thirty reviews on the prologue, which is more than I've ever gotten on the first chapter of a story EVER! YOU GUYS ROCK MY SOCKS OFF! I hope that you all like the new chapter!

~Mock

I wake to the smell of warm bread. Rubbing my eyes, I see the blurry outline of Peeta, bending down and looking as though he's picking something up from off the ground. My vision comes into better focus, and I see that Peeta has a loaf of bread in his hands.

"This came after you fell asleep last night," he says. "Don't worry, I didn't eat any of it." He smiles at me, and it's so warm and genuine that I feel the stirring in my stomach that I felt last night. So I truly am in love with him.

I almost move in to kiss him again when other people's faces pop into my head. Prim. Rory. Vick. Posy. Gale. Even Madge is there, reminding me that no one's safe. No one's safe from this hell of an arena. I've already had to sacrifice myself for someone I love already, and I won't be able to do that again. I don't want anyone else I care about going through the Hunger Games.

This feeling that I have for Peeta is the same feeling that leads people to marriage. And marriage leads to children. How can I condemn a child to watch these brutal Games year after year, knowing that one day they might be a part of the freak show? How can I willingly send someone to stand frozen with fear at reapings, dreading the chance that they or someone they know will be sent to fight to the death? And what if my child was chosen? How can I forcibly send someone that I would love, maybe even as much as Prim or Peeta, into this arena?

I can't do any of that in good conscience. So throughout the day, I try to distance myself as much as I can from Peeta. Maybe, if I deny these feelings long enough, they'll eventually starve out and die. Then I won't have to battle with this rage inside of me, my sense of what's right battling with what I want.

I can tell Peeta notices that I'm more withdrawn. He doesn't attempt to force conversation, and of course I don't seek to start one. My mind drifts to Thresh for a moment, wondering if he's holding up against Cato's seething anger. I could feel it when Clove was killed. He truly did care for her.

But even though this was exactly what I was trying to quench, my mind is mostly at war with itself throughout the day. As I lie against Peeta's chest (I can't remove all forms of affection), there's a small voice in my head, screaming that this is wrong. Funnily enough, that voice almost sounds like Gale's. But there's a larger part of my mind, one that's getting louder every minute, that tells me this is what I was put on this planet for. I was always meant to complete the boy who sits here with me, and he was meant to complete me.

I've fought what seems to be the inevitable countless times. I've fought against starvation at home, and I won. I've fought against my quarry that I've hunted, and I won. I've fought against the very nation of Panem by leaving the borders of my district and bringing fresh game to the hungry people, and I won. And now I'm fighting against my own feelings, and I'm losing. Things have always been, to some degree, in my control ever since I started hunting. But since the reaping, I'm finding that more and more things are slipping through my fingers. I couldn't control that they pulled Prim's name. I can't control these Games. But I should be able to control my own feelings. And I can't!

Does this mean that I'm weak? Or is this truly something that no one can fight against, no matter how strong they are? Somehow, deep in my soul, I believe that it's the latter. I look at my parents. My father knew that, being from the Seam, it would be a challenge to support a family. Maybe even impossible. Yet he fell in love with my mother and started a family with her anyway. And then Peeta's parents. I don't see how anyone could possibly love his witch of a mother, but the baker did.

But what about Peeta? Is he just playing for the cameras? Or is he in love with me? I decide there's really no point other than just asking.

"Peeta," I begin, my voice slightly hoarse from lack of use. "You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?"

Peeta looks down at me, surprise that I want to talk evident in his features, but there's already a smile dancing around his lips, playing in his eyes. "Oh let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair… it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up."

"You're father?" I interrupt. "Why?"

"He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,'" Peeta says, his smile hinting at a bit of sadness that I can find no lie in. Either he's really good at storytelling… or he's telling the truth.

"What? You're making that up!" I burst out, and Peeta laughs. His laugh is a good hearty sound, and it doesn't belong in a gray cave with rain falling everywhere.

"No, true story," he says, still chuckling. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings, even the birds stop to listen.'"

"That's true," I say softly, completely in tune with his story now. "They do. I mean, they did," I say quickly. My father had a lovely voice, and now that I stop to think about it, I remember the woods going silent whenever he sang. Even the birds appreciated the beauty of his voice.

"So that day, in music assembly," Peeta continues, "the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up into the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent."

"Oh, please," I say, laughing a bit. I'm nowhere near as good as my father. The birds wouldn't extend the same courtesy that gave him to me. In fact, they shouldn't treat me as they did him. I feel like that would be dishonoring his memory somehow.

"No, it happened," Peeta says, laughing lightly along with me. "And right when your song ended, I knew-just like your mother-I was a goner. Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you."

"Without success," I add.

"Without success," he agrees with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair and continues. "So, in a way, my name being drawn at the reaping was a real piece of luck."

I contemplate on this story. Everything has a ring of truth to it. I can remember singing the valley song first day of school. I can even vaguely remember a red plaid dress. Is Peeta really in love with me too? I feel like he might just be… And I've accepted it. I'm in love with him too. But I will never, ever have children. That is unthinkable.

"You have a remarkable memory," I tell him, my voice low. Peeta grins at me.

"I remember everything about you. It's you who wasn't paying attention," he says.

"I am now," I say back.

"Well, I don't have much competition here do I?" he asks.

I find that other voice in my head, the one that sounded like Gale. It's fainter than ever, and then suddenly, it disappears. All I feel is a sense of rightness, being here with Peeta. And I remember how I have secretly kept track of him all these years.

"You don't have much competition anywhere." The words slip from my mouth without me having to think about them, but I know they're true. They're among the truest words I've ever said. And because I'm not denying myself anymore, I lean in to kiss him.

There's a fire inside my stomach the moment our lips meet. I kiss Peeta with every fiber of my being, and even though I don't really know what I'm doing, I try and put my passion into this kiss. I can tell he notices a difference. He hesitates for a moment, then responds with the same amount of passion I am giving him. I truly mean something with this kiss. I truly love him.

There's a clatter outside the cave, and we're suddenly sprung apart. I grab my bow and nock an arrow, while Peeta takes a knife and stand protectively in front of me. There's no noise for a moment, so Peeta's peers out, and then lets out a sound of joy. He scrambles out of the cave for a moment, but before I can even get worried, he comes back with a large picnic basket full of steamy Capitol food. I can see Haymitch, nodding with satisfaction. It seems as though physical affection as well as emotional attachment is what the audience is looking for. And I know I can deliver to everyone. I can deliver to the people watching. I can deliver to Peeta, because I'm finally reciprocating. And I can deliver to myself. All I want is Peeta, and I'm so thankful that I don't have to pretend anymore.

With the voice of Gale pushed from my thoughts altogether, I turn back to Peeta and kiss him again.

A/N: Oh, this is just too much fun to write. Seriously, I am squeeing like crazy over here! More should be coming up soon, but I've finally learned not to give a specific time for it.

BIG NEWS! Currently, my story Things Can Be Good Again is the second most read story on hungergamesfanfiction(dot)com! This is amazing! I've thanked my support on that site, and I want to thank everyone for all the support here too!

If you've read MLMFMHMDML, I put up a little oneshot about Finn and Electra. If you haven't already, go check it out! And then be sure to vote on my poll! It would be much appreciated.

~Mock