Disclaimer: As always, nothing in the Hunger Games universe is my property. Don't sue me.

He smiles at me, quickly moving to put another dish on the stove.

"You don't have to say that, you know."

"It's true. Look at us. When have you ever wronged me… or wronged anyone without a decent reason?"

He sighs and leans against the counter, "I'm a victor, Katniss. Far from innocent, but the sentiment is nice."

His blue eyes peer into mine, the counter separating us. I get that feeling again, the undeniable need to just kiss him or squeeze him, to let him know that I love him. So I push myself off the leather bar stool and wrap my arms around his neck, quickly before he can even notice, and I capture his lips with mine causing him to drop his wooden ladle on the ground.

"Turn off the stove," I say as we break for air, allowing him to push me up against the kitchen table.

"What?" He says to me before slipping his tongue into my mouth and wrapping his arms around the curve of my waist.

"Turn off the stove!" I repeat.

This time he stops, "Why?"

"Well," I say, "I don't intend on stopping this anytime soon and well, you don't want to burn down your brand new house…"

He leans back and cuts the switch off quickly before returning to me, knotting his hands through my hair and kissing me.

We remain that way for what seems like hours, the two of us pressed against the wall with our lips intertwined, one of my legs wrapped around his body.

It's the perfect chance to move forward, to further my mission of ensuring his happiness, so I pull away for a second and speak up to him, "You know, if it's something you want, we could go upstairs," I mutter, my face flushing at the implications.

"It's getting late, your mother…"

"Oh yeah, I guess you're right." I say, pushing myself off of the counter and landing on the floor, awkwardness flooding the room at his shut down.

He runs his hands against my arm and looks into my eyes, "You don't have to go," he says softly.

"No, I probably should. I'll eat with my mother," the words cut into the air as I slip my bag over my shoulder and pull away from him. "Goodbye," I say, slipping out of the door.

That was certainly not how I intended on this day going, and the fact that he turned down my offer still stings.


The lights are still not on in my house. When I open the door, from the lack of noise and the darkness, it's quite obvious that nobody else is home. There is a note on the oak table in the kitchen. It's from my mother, saying that Prim and her will not be home until the morning, confirming my previous suspicions. There was no point in leaving Peeta, no excuses, we could have stayed together.

Having nothing else to do, I trudge up the stairs and stay in my room for the rest of the day. I end up writing in some additions to the plant book, which is in the state that it was previous to the first game. At least this time, I already know what to put in there. But it's a bit odd, doing the same thing twice, and it brings up thoughts about how on earth any of this actually happened. Maybe I was shot or hurt. Maybe I'm in some sort of coma and I've entered a dream world.

Maybe I'm dead.

It's a possibility, I suppose. That I've died and entered some sort of purgatory where I can relive my experiences. Or even heaven, where I get a second chance to make up for my mistakes. I don't feel dead though, and I don't think I could have died in my sleep. I'm not entirely sure if it's a dream, it seems far too real, but what else could this be? Perhaps I've gone crazy or mental and this isn't even real, some sort of brain tumor or trauma from the Quell?

It doesn't matter, I'm stuck here indefinitely. I better make the best of it while I have the opportunity.


That night, I sit up in bed, unable to sleep. I'm all alone, and not just in my bed this night. Prim and mother aren't even in the house. It's unnerving, the feeling of being completely alone in a large, empty house while my terrors plague me. Peeta's a few yards from you, you could go over there, the thought invades my mind.

Peeta made it clear that he wasn't interested in me spending any time in his bed, completely innocent or anything more. Although, maybe, just maybe, he was nervous or something. I forget that this is just sixteen-year-old Peeta sometimes. Not the one who knows that we have a target on our backs, not the one who has lived through the quell, not the one who has previously shared my bed and night terrors. No, this is hopelessly delirious in love, sweet, innocent Peeta Mellark. The blond haired, blue eyed baker's son who wants nothing more than to make me happy.

Not entirely innocent, though. Even this Peeta shares the nightmares. Peeta does this every night, he doesn't even have a family to share his house with.

We could help each other.


I resolve to go over to his house, slipping a coat over my thin pink nightgown, a gift from Cinna, and I walk to Peeta's house.

I pound on his door, this time not bothering to just knock. The noise is probably waking up Haymitch from a drunken slumber, but I could care less.

Peeta answers the door quickly. He's clothed in only loose dark plaid flannel pants that hang dangerously low on his hips. His ruffled blonde hair is pulled back against his crown.

"Oh, Katniss, Hi," he says, raising his eyebrows at my disheveled appearance.

"I couldn't sleep," I say, biting my lip and looking at him expectantly.

"Oh, come inside," he says motioning me indoors, "Let me just throw on a shirt." He closes the door behind us and quickly picks up a short sleeved black top from the kitchen table, his muscles flexing as he pulls it over his head.


"So," he says as we sit down on his sofa, "you couldn't sleep."

"I get nightmares," I say, closing my coat a little tighter against my body, the thin nightgown making my nearly bare appearance uncomfortable.

"You d- I mean, so do I," he says, gulping a little bit as he takes in my appearance.

"I was wondering if I could stay here tonight."

"Stay here?" he says, his voice a little shaky with what appears to be confusion.

"Yes, I thought it might help. We only have each other, but we're lucky in that regard. I thought it could help, you know, if we weren't alone. I can imagine it can be lonely, and my mother isn't home. She wouldn't notice or care anyways. But if you don't want to, I can understand. I'm sorry, this was stupid, I'll just lea-," I say, starting to stand up.

"No." He says, placing his hand on my thigh and stopping me, "It might help. I'll make some tea and then we can go to bed."


Peeta rinses the mugs from our tea in the sink, gently wiping them off with a towel and placing them on the drying rack. I lean against the opposing counter and peer over at him.

"Want to go upstairs now?" I say, a bit awkwardly.

"Sure," he says and we just stand there for a moment, both of us unsure of how to continue.

"Come on, then," I say, and we both climb up the stairs and I pull him into his room.


Peeta's room is simple and fairly unchanged from the state he probably received it in. Dark heavy wooden furniture fills the room, a large four post bed in the center. The walls are a plain white that matches the moldings, the color of snow only broken by two large paintings; one above the bed and the other above the dresser. They must be his, I can tell by the style that it is surely Peeta's. They are happy pleasant pictures. Bright yellow sunflowers looming over grass above his headboard, and a simple watercolor of the sunset over the dresser.

"Well, this is it," Peeta says, breaking my train of thought, "May I take your coat?"

I'm still wearing the coat, and it's really the only thing concealing my body, but there is no way to really explain that, so I allow him to take the sleeve and slip it off me.

He places it on a nearby hook, his eyes never leaving my body, and he takes my hand and brings me to the bed. I'm not wearing much, only a thin nightgown and fuzzy socks. My shoes long abandoned in the living room.

"You can touch me if you want," I say as we both lie on the bed, separated by a foot or so.

"What?" He says with an almost alarmed tone.

"I can tell you've noticed, my um, state," I say, turning to him, "You can touch me if you want. It's not much, but I wouldn't mind if you did."

It's all wrong and awkward the way I bring it up, but what else could I say?

"I don't want you to think we have to do anything because of this arrangement..." he starts.

"It's not because of that," I say, pulling my body closer to his so that I am nestled next to him, "I want you to, unless, of course, you don't want to."

He laughs, "Of course I do, Katniss, but I think if we start that I'll never be able to stop, and we both need sleep."

"Fine." I say, scowling at his rejection and pulling my body away from his.

"I didn't mean to-" he starts.

"Don't, it's fine," I reply, pulling the dark covers of the feathered quilt over my shoulders and facing the other direction.


We both lay down in the bed for a while, our bodies slightly distanced as we both face opposite directions. Our breathing is uneven and tense, the inhales and exhales accounting for the only noise in the room.

"Hold me," I say, breaking the uneasy silence and allowing him to come closer and slip his arm around my waist. It's a comforting crushing feeling. As the night progresses we find ourselves wrapped around each other, legs entangled as we both grow tired.

"You know, Katniss..." Peeta speaks up.

"Yes," I respond with a sigh as my eyelids burn with the lack of sleep that I have experienced over the last few days.

"This is nice, being with you. I never imagined that I would ever have this possibility, but here you are. In my bed..." he pauses at the implications of his words. "It's everything I've ever wanted and I just wanted to let you know that you have given me everything I could possibly want and," his voice flutters a bit, "I meant what I said, I love you."

I shift my body in his direction, pulling my legs out from underneath his and I press my face against his, balling my hands against his touch, "I love you too, Peeta. Don't you ever forget that, but go to sleep."

He smiles at me, and it's not one of the sad weary smiles that I've seen before or one of the fake smiles we both sported in the Capitol. No, this one is genuine and full of childish delight.

"One kiss?" he questions, pushing his hand against the thin silky material of my nightgown.

"Okay, one kiss. That is all," I say, pulling him closer to me and pressing my lips on his.


It feels like such a luxury, sleeping with Peeta again. I didn't realize until now how starved I've been for human closeness, for the feel of him beside me in the darkness. I wish I hadn't wasted the last couple of nights shutting him out. I sink down into sleep, enveloped in his warmth, and when I open my eyes again, daylight is streaming through the windows.

"No nightmares," he asks.

"No nightmares," I confirm. "You?"

"None. I'd forgotten what a real night's sleep feels like," he says.


Author's Note: So, what do you think? Finally we got some Everlark interaction. What are your hopes for the next chapter? Any constructive criticism is welcome.

I would like to thank my beta, eatsnightlockforbreakfast, because without her 90% of this would not be legible.

As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety.