Author's note: Thank you to everyone who commented and reviewed this story. You have no idea how much it means to me! A special thanks to papofglencoe for betaing this!
It's freezing. My skin starts to pebble, and it travels all the way up my arms, past my shoulders and down my back, and down to my legs and feet. I pull the covers up to my chin and turn around to lie in the fetal position. That's better. No, it's too warm, so I flip the pillow to the cooler side. Perfect! No, it's still too warm, so I throw off the covers again. This cycle repeats itself over and over. Maybe I should just give up. Sanders already did and left the room a while ago. Probably to to sleep somewhere without me constantly turning around.
The sheets are wrinkled after I have been tossing and turning for what feels like hours, and I reach for my phone to check the time. I have to squint my eyes because of the bright screen, but manage to make out the numbers: 03.17. If I fall asleep now and get up at 9, I can get almost six hours of sleep, I try to bargain with myself. I can live with that. Assuming I fall asleep right now.
But the only thing I see when I close my eyes are his blue ones. The way they looked at me, and how he saved me from that bottomless pit of grief and despair I almost fell into. Why did he leave his number? Is it even his? Does he write it down on all his cards? And a small drawing like that, he can probably make with his eyes closed. It doesn't mean anything.
So why can't I just stop thinking about him?
I turn on the bedside lamp and pull out his card from the drawer. It's an almost exact copy of Prim's necklace, and it's nothing short of a wonder how he managed to capture it that flawlessly with just one glance. I know it's his job, but still. I swipe my thumb across his name. Peeta Mellark. It's quite unique.
Instead of pointlessly trying to fall asleep, I pull out my laptop and type his name in the search field. Why didn't I think of this before? The result is a handful of search hits. He has a Facebook account, but it doesn't seem very active, and I can't find any relationship status anywhere. Oh fuck, I've turned into one of those. I'm stalking information on Facebook about a guy I met once. This is a first for me.
But I'm intrigued and continue to scroll down the list. There's a website with the same address as the one on the card. There are mostly pictures of his art and some contact information, but the number doesn't match the one he gave me. It's pretty reasonable; why would he put his personal number on his professional website?
Instead, I scan the other sites and find a picture of him and Delly. He is wearing a navy blue shirt that hugs him in all the right places, and his arm is slung around her shoulders. They both smile, and his blue gaze is piercing through the camera lens. I'm thankful I'm in bed because that look would cause my knees to buckle. Delly leans into him, and she looks proud with a big smile on her lips. The picture seems to be taken at another art exhibition and the caption reads Peeta Mellark and assistant Delly Cartwright. So she's his assistant, that's it. But their relationship seems to be more than just professional.
I try a different approach and type the phone number in the search field. There it is. His name is at the top of the list, so I guess it's his real number, at least. But this doesn't help me at all. Do I call him? Do I text him? I close the laptop and lean back on my pillow. I have to get some sleep.
There is something wet moving on my face. It's stroking my cheek and travels across my nose and up my forehead. Then it's poking me. I open my eyes and am met with Sanders' brown ones.
"That's gross, Sanders! I've seen where that mouth has been." He cocks his head as if he's thinking: So? "Alright, I'm up. What time is it?" I ask, as if expecting an answer from him. I grab my phone and press the home button: 8.11 am. I guess that will have to do.
But when I stand up I feel a painful burn in my legs. Oh, that's right. I usually don't run, and yesterday I didn't stretch. I guess I'm paying the price now and half-limp to the kitchen. I turn on the kettle and boil some water to make instant coffee. After my "breakfast" I take Sanders out. We pass by Haymitch's house, and I glance toward his windows, but there are usually no signs of life before noon.
We walk slowly around the neighborhood because of the soreness in my legs, but Sanders is by my feet at all times. I'm really glad I took the time to raise him properly when he was a puppy, and now I'm reaping the benefits. My thoughts automatically go to last night. I've had some time to process it, but I'm still at a crossroads. On one hand, I definitely want to see Peeta again, but on the other, doesn't it seem desperate to call the day after you met someone for the first time? But he did give me his number.
When we get back to the house I do the only thing I can think of. I call Gale. We were inseparable and best friends as kids. We don't talk every day, but I know I can always count on him, and he always has my back. He answers after a couple of signals.
"Hey, Catnip!" I've had that nickname since we met. He misheard my name, and after that, it kind of stuck. I guess it could be worse, but it still doesn't mean I like it. But it's useless trying to get rid of it, so I let it slide.
"Hey." I don't really know how to put it so I just cut to the chase. "I want to get your advice on something."
"Really?" He sounds unconvinced, which is kind of expected since I rarely ask for help. I always try to solve my problems on my own, before pestering someone else about it.
"Yes. And please hear me out before you chime in," I tell him.
"Alright."
"So, I met a guy." I can hear him take breath, wanting to chip in. "You promised you would hear me out," I add before he has the chance. I take his silence as a cue to continue and give him a brief account of the events last night, but I leave out the part of me swooning like teenager.
"So what kind of advice are you looking for?" he asks when I'm done.
"Isn't it obvious?" I question. "Do I call him or not? Doesn't that seem a little desperate? I'm not one of those girls who drops everything just because an attractive guy gives them a little bit of attention."
"So you think he's attractive, huh," he asks, but it's more of a statement. Peeta is more than just attractive; he's sexier than I thought was possible, and I'm feeling a heat across my face just thinking about him.
"Well, he's not sore on the eyes."
"Well, there's no harm in calling him right? Go on one date, and if it doesn't work out, you can put it to rest. And you've got a meal out of it, so it's a win-win." He continues. "And besides, he's the one who reached out to you. Believe me, you don't draw a girl a flower if you're not interested. And if he managed to help you through that episode you almost had, he's probably a decent guy," he concludes.
"You're making a disturbing amount of sense," I say reluctantly.
"I know," he says, and I can practically see the shit-eating grin he must have on his face. He lucked out and met the love of his life a couple of years ago; he's been married to Madge for three years, and they have two kids. "Look, what do you have to lose?"
"You mean, besides my self-respect?" What if I have misinterpreted the whole situation and Peeta doesn't want to see me at all. "Maybe I should just let it be. I mean, he could be one of those guys who gives out their number to anything with more than one X chromosome."
"Then find out," Gale says. "Listen, I don't think there's any rulebook on how to do this. Give him a call, see what happens." Maybe he's right.
"We'll see. Thanks." I hang up the phone and slouch down on the couch. I start flipping between the channels on TV, but I'm not really looking. My mind keeps flashing back to last night and my eyes soon settle on my phone on the coffee table. I could give him a call. But I hate calling people I'm not familiar with. It always ends with an awkward silence where nobody knows what to say.
After a while I give in and grab the phone from where it rests and open it. I'm not gonna call him; I'll send him a text. But I keep staring at that blinking blue bar, like it's challenging me to start typing. I don't even know if I should start with Hi or Hey. Why is this so difficult? I'm Katniss Everdeen. I'm twenty-six years old. I'm a biology Ph.D. student. I should be able to write a simple text. Write the fucking text.
So do you draw flowers on all of your business cards?
That doesn't sound rude, right? Maybe I should add a smiley, just to avoid confusion. No, I don't do smileys. If he can't handle a simple question, it will never work anyway. He can answer if he wants; the ball is in his court now. I decide I'm not gonna spend more time on this, so I just hit the send button and quickly put it back on the table.
My laptop is still in my bedroom from this night's googling adventure, so I get under the covers and grab it from the nightstand. I have to catch up on some new articles that were published last week that I didn't have time to read, since I was preparing for the conference and finishing up my own article.
When I hear the familiar buzz of a vibrating phone on a hard surface, I instinctively slam the computer shut and throw off the covers. I half-run to the living room (why did I leave it there, anyway?) to see who it is. The disappointment that hits me when I realize it's just some commercial text is embarrassing, and I'm relieved no one saw my foolish scramble across the room. Well, except Sanders, but he won't tell. Why do I care so much if Peeta answers or not?
I retreat back to my bed and put the phone on the pillow next to me. I don't care if he gets back to me or not, but if he does, I wanna see it. I open up my laptop and continue reading the article I started before. But the screen is too bright, and I have to squint my eyes. After being a student for as many years as I have, you start to recognize the signs when your brain is sleep-deprived. And at that time it's better to just give in. It's no use trying to read or learn anything because your brain will just blatantly ignore it.
I forgot I left my phone next to me, so when I wake from the buzzing sound, it startles me. There is no name on the display, but I recognize the number. I swipe my thumb across the screen to read his message.
No. Just yours.
I don't know if I was expecting some sort of grand explanation. Maybe there's some underlying meaning to the drawing I'm not getting. Well, there's a meaning to me, but there's no way he could have known that. So I just send him another question.
Katniss: Why?
I only have to wait a couple of minutes for his reply.
Peeta: Oh, man! I have to work on my flirting skills. I thought it was obvious. That necklace seemed special to you.
Katniss: It is. Maybe I can tell you sometime.
I don't know why I wrote that, because I usually don't want to talk about it. But since Peeta somehow managed to make me feel so much better yesterday, I kind of feel like I owe him. And I hate owing people. Another buzz.
Peeta: If you want to. But you can tell me other stuff too.
Katniss: Like what?
Peeta: Like… What's your favorite color?
I chuckle to myself. What kind of third-grade-question is that? But I decide to humor him.
Katniss: Green. What's yours?
Peeta: The soft blend of red and yellow of the sky right before the sun disappears below the horizon. Oh, that's right. He's an artist.
Katniss: You know, you could easily just have said orange.
Peeta: I could. But then you would have thought of a carrot;)
Katniss: That's true!
He doesn't reply after that. Did I offend him or something? I'm arguing with myself about what I should do, but he beats me to it.
Peeta: Do you want to continue this conversation tomorrow? I know a place that has the best brunches. I have never understood the fascination with brunches. Why in the world would you want to merge breakfast and lunch together when you can spread them out? But I definitely won't turn down a meal with Peeta.
Katniss: Okay. Where do you want to meet?
Peeta: There is a place on Victor's Lane called Sae's.
Katniss: Yeah, I know where it is. What time?
Peeta: 11?
Katniss: Sounds good. See you there.
Okay, that's settled. I'm well-rested after my power nap and decide to give that article a second chance. It goes a lot smoother, and I finish it all in one reading. Normally, I have to take breaks to let the new information sink in, but this time the process is not as exhausting as usual.
I'm half an hour early. It usually takes about fifteen minutes to drive into town, but I wanted to give myself some extra time in case I didn't find a place to park my car. It must have slipped the urban planners' minds that not everyone in Panem live inside the city limits and have to rely on a car to get into town. Fortunately, I managed to find a space pretty quickly, hence my earliness.
I find a booth that's kind of secluded but allows a good view of the entrance. Since I didn't eat anything before I left, I can feel my stomach start to growl in protest, but I just order a coffee while I wait. I pull up my phone and open Candy Crush to pass the time. But it's impossible; not because the level is particularly difficult, but because every time the door opens my head snaps up.
I'm so irritated with myself, for letting my world revolve around a man I've met once, that I almost miss it when he enters. His clothing is a lot more casual today, as expected. He's wearing a short-sleeved dark green shirt, and I wonder if there is any color he can't pull off.
He greets the waiter and starts scanning the room. His gaze is intense, but when his eyes meet mine his face lights up, and I feel a flutter in my stomach. Shit, what do I do? Do take his hand or just say hi? I get up and hope this doesn't turn into one of those awkward situations where one of us goes for a handshake and the other doesn't.
"You found it!" he exclaims and gives me a quick hug. His warm arms envelop me, and it feels like such a luxury. When he releases me, he gives me a sheepish smile, and his cheeks are a little flushed. Someone must have been spending some time in the sun. "Sorry, that wasn't too forward of me, I hope."
We settle down across from one another. "No, you're in the clear," I reassure him.
"Good. Wouldn't want to get off on the wrong foot. Have you had time to look at the menu?" he asks, shooting a look at my almost-empty coffee cup.
"Yes, but I was hoping to get your recommendation."
"Well, it's the only place around here that has anything that could pass for bread, but their waffles are stellar."
"I could go for waffles." I don't just say it to be polite. It sounds really good, especially since I've just had coffee today.
"Excellent choice!" he beams. In no time at all, a waiter swings by our table, a girl that looks to be in her late teens. She drags a hand through her long hair and then puts it on her hip.
"Hey, Peeta! Good to see you." She gives me a quick glance, but her eyes instantly go back to Peeta. "The usual?"
"Yes, two of those actually." She scribbles something on her notebook, and we both order coffee. She comes back a minute later with our drinks. As soon as she leaves, Peeta's face turns serious, and he looks me straight in the eyes. His eyes have turned a shade darker, and the intensity of his gaze puts me a little at unease.
"You know I've gotta ask, right?" His voice is not the same cheerful one he had just a minute ago when he was talking about waffles. Oh, no. He's gonna ask about the necklace, and then I have to tell him about Prim. That's not really first-date-material.
"What?" I try to sound indifferent, but I'm sure my voice is trembling.
"What do you do for a living?" he asks casually. The breath I release is probably a little too loud to pass for a normal exhale, but I try to laugh it off. "What?" he questions. "Did you think I was gonna ask for your deepest, darkest secret?"
"Maybe," I say and try to hide my smirk behind the coffee cup. If he sees, he doesn't show it.
"Well, I already lured your favorite color out of you, so I would say I'm halfway there," he says with a wink.
"Then I guess I might as well let you have this one, too. I'm a Ph.D. student in biology at Panem U."
"Really?" People usually find this boring, but his enthusiasm seems genuine. "Then you must be incredibly smart. What field?"
"Macroevolution."
"I don't even know what that means. What's it like?"
"It's not that complex. It's just a string of moments where you fear people finally figured out you really have no idea what you're doing."
"I highly doubt that, but I wouldn't know." Just then, our food arrives. He leans back when the waiter puts the plates on the table, and I spare a glance at the waffles.
"What is that?" I blurt the words out, and they sound more accusatory than I had intended. But these are no ordinary waffles.
"It's raspberry jam and whipped cream," he says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Granted, I don't eat waffles often, but when I do I drench them in maple syrup. "You should give it a try."
"I will. I just didn't expect this." I take a bite, and the mixture of the sweet jam, fluffy cream and crispy waffle explodes and mix in my mouth. It's delicious. "Wow, I think my mouth just had an orgasm!" The words are out before I can stop them, and my hand flies up to cover my mouth. Like that's going to help. Peeta simply looks amused.
"Then you're in luck. I know a few more things that will leave you… more than satisfied," he teases. Instead of embarrassing me even further, I feel myself getting wet from his implication, even if he's talking about food. Right?
"Well, I guess sometimes the stars align."
Peeta chuckles and look down on his plate. He has a look on his face like he wants to say something but is biting his tongue.
"What?" I ask and raise my eyebrows, urging him to explain.
"People use that expression when something rare happens, or when they get lucky," he muses and leans back.
"Yeah, so?" I ask, sounding a lot less interested than I was aiming for.
"Well, many stars aligning is rare, but I wouldn't count myself lucky if that happened."
"How come?"
"The gravitational forces of many stars on a straight line could disrupt the balance, and we could get thrown out of the solar system," he deadpans.
"Oh!" I'm surprised not only that he knows that, but when he pointed it out, I thought I could see a spark in his eyes. "How do you know?"
"I, ah, took a couple of physics classes in college. And I have always liked astronomy." He leans forward and puts his arm on the table. "Have you seen those pictures of galaxies and supernovae? That's art."
The rest of the conversation goes pretty smoothly. There are no awkward silences, and Peeta always has something to say. He's talkative but also attentive and a very good listener. I tell him about Sanders and show him his picture on my phone. I learn that he lives in an apartment not far from here and that he's twenty-seven and has two older brothers, Rye and Aaron, who are only one and three years older than he is. When he talks about them, his voice rises, and it's obvious that they're very close. The same goes for his father.
"Yeah, I don't know how my life would be without my dad." His voice is lower but still full of love. I get a tad jealous of how close he seems to be to his family. Not that I begrudge him that, I just wish could have the same with mine. The one that's left anyway. It only took a year between my father's and Prim's deaths, and after that, my relationship with my mother deteriorated.
Then I notice his eyes on me, like he's expecting me to say anything. Oh shit, I didn't realize I zoned out.
"Sorry, what?"
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" he asks, and I freeze. This kind of question is hit-or-miss. Apparently, today it's a miss. I just stare down at my half-eaten waffle, and suddenly I'm repulsed by it. I have to say something; I can't just leave him hanging. But no words come out. I can hear the sound of my own heartbeat, but it's not the usual dunking; it's like waves crashing twice a second. The room around us slowly starts to spin and everything turns a dark shade of grey. Except for Peeta. He is the only light in here. His warm hand encircles mine, and I manage to fix my eyes on him, like he's anchoring me to the present. And I slowly return to some semblance of normality.
"Are you okay?" He's obviously worried, but I can't talk about Prim right now. I just can't.
"Yeah. I mean no, I don't have any siblings." It's not a complete lie, but it's not the whole truth either. He seems satisfied with my answer and lets go of my hand, but I instinctively grab his again, not ready to lose this closeness. His eyes shoot up to mine expectantly, as if waiting for a an explanation, but I don't give him one; I would probably choke on my words. He doesn't push it, but he doesn't let go of my hand either. I wonder if he feels it too.
We continue a pretty casual conversation with our hands intertwined. It probably looks weird, and it's a bit tricky eating with just one hand, but I don't care. When we're finished Peeta foots the bill. Normally, I would have argued, but I don't want to make a fuss.
"Did you drive here?" he asks.
"Yes."
"Then let me walk you back to your car," he offers.
"Okay." When we leave the diner, he puts his hand on the small of my back, and it feels surprisingly reassuring. We walk incredibly slow back to my car, like he doesn't want our little walk to end. And frankly, neither do I.
"Your tires look worn. You should change those," he informs me when we get to my car. He's stalling.
"Um yeah, I guess I should."
"I had a really great time today, Katniss." His voice is sensual, and the way he says my name is so sexy it makes me want to drag him into an alley and have my way with him.
"Me too," is all I can muster.
"So, do you want to..." I don't know what he was going to ask, but I can't help myself. I cut him off, and my lips are on his before he can finish his sentence. I rest my hands on his steady chest, and his travel up to my shoulders, holding me in a firm grip. His lips are as soft and warm as I had imagined, and at this proximity I notice his scent. He smells like… home. The kiss is pretty chaste, and it's over way too soon. He leans his forehead against mine.
"I'm sorry. I don't know..." This time, it's Peeta who cuts me off.
"Don't be. Can I..." He clears his throat. "Can I see you again?" Like there would be any hesitation after what just transpired between us. But I appreciate that he doesn't take it for granted.
"Yeah." He lets out a breath and traces his fingers down my arm to my hands. He gives them a squeeze before letting go, and I instantly miss his touch. "I'll call you."
"Oh no!" he feigns distress. "You know that's code for 'I will not call you', right?" It could have become extremely awkward after that kiss, but I'm amazed by how he's turned this into a comfortable conversation.
I pull out my keys and get into the car. I look up to him from where he's partially leaning on the door. "Okay, I'll text you. Better?" I can't stop the stupid smile that's creeping onto my face.
"Hey, I'll take what I can get. Drive safely."
"Okay." Before I close the door I add with a smirk, "I'll call you."
And I know I will.
Author's note: Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment and let me know what you think. I'm maxwellandlovelace on tumblr if you want to chat.