Rain


He is tense today.

She knows it's probably because of the interviews that aired last night. About Katniss' eleven. About her dress. About her holding hands with Peeta. About how Peeta said he was in love with Katniss.

Was Gale in love with Katniss?

She stares down at her food. She wishes she wouldn't think this way. She wishes she didn't care so much.

But she does.

She pulls on the ribbon in her hair, the one her mother once said brought out her eyes.

But her mother doesn't really say much of anything anymore. Especially not since the Games have started again this year. But she will not think about that. Nor about how Gale's foot taps on the ground or the way his collar is uneven and only half folded, and how she itches to fix it for him.


He drags his palm harshly over his face.

He wishes he could have just stayed asleep today. Or maybe for a week.

But he's at school, under the harsh florescent lights, braving the cruel world. His friends who stare at him uncertainly, the way the damn televisions are everywhere and playing recaps of what's already aired last night.

He does not feel anything.

He doesn't know. Everything is unsure, out of proportion and perspective.

He almost forgets Madge sitting next to him.

Almost.

But of course, he never really can forget her, can he? Even when his best friend has just been embarrassed or... whatever by that prick from town, he's still conscious of the edge of his shirt sleeve touching her shoulder.


"Are you alright?" She asks him the next day. She feels she's earned this right by now, seeing as they're friends. And he hasn't spoken a word to her, not even a hello.

"He's such a snake." He blurts out. "The only reason he made up all that is because he wanted to make her look weak."

She swallows her pain, saying, "I think it'll help her."

"How could it possibly do that?" He demands, his tone suddenly sharp. She tries to keep her calm and explain.

"Well, it's advertisement. Something juicy to entice potential sponsors. The guests from the Capitol who've been staying here haven't stopped talking about them since the interview. Everyone's calling them the star-crossed lovers from District 12."

He scoffs. "The star-crossed lovers from District 12? What a load of trash."

She feels her eyes almost welling up with tears. She feels stupid, so stupid. She should remember things that are so obvious, but it's a little shock and hurts anyway.

"Maybe." She says flatly.

She finds herself gathering up her books as fast as she can, because if she lets herself cry in front of him she will never forgive herself. He looks confused as she shoves in her chair and turns away, but she doesn't see.


She does not show up to lunch the day after, and he spends the entire time looking up every time someone else bangs through the doors. He wonders where she is, if she stayed home today, if she's well. What if something happened to her?

He doubts it would, she's the mayor's daughter, but all the same. She hasn't missed a day this whole school year.

But she is back the day after that, and he can't help asking her, "Where were you yesterday?"

As soon as it leaves his mouth he wishes he could take it back, because he sounds so needy, and he hates it.

"I had to meet my algebra teacher during lunch about a makeup test." She says choppily. She's lying.

He wants to badger her and find out where she actually was, but he won't. Instead, they fall into their companionable quiet again, though he can't help but notice she's sitting a little farther away than she usually does.

He misses coming to see her on the weekends. For the past few weeks he hadn't been delivering strawberries, as they had been out of season. His old excuse to see her was gone, and he was left with an hour and a few words each day, which he patiently (well, as patiently as he could) looked forward to.

"Is... is everything alright?" He tries again. The words feel strange.

But the smile she gives him after he says them make up for it.

"Yes." She says shortly, but it's kinder.

"I was worried about you."

He must have hit his head during the night because he's absolutely sure his brain did not give his mouth consent to say that. Her cheeks look a little pink and she looks down at her hands.

He feels completely embarrassed, and resolutely says nothing more for the rest of the period.

But she speaks as the bell rings and the room clamors with everyone leaving for class.

"Would you like to come over today?" It's one of her spontaneous questions.

"Is that allowed?" He answers quickly. "I mean - "

"Well, my m - yes. Yeah, it's fine." She says hurriedly. "I just need an opinion on this new piece I've been practicing, and since I played for you that one time and you said that you liked it and the piece I want to play for you today is kind of similar, so I thought that you would like this one too, maybe."

She's babbling.

"Yeah. Sure." He says, and tries not to smile. He knows it's a bad idea that he's agreed to. But it's hard to keep the corners of his mouth down nonetheless.

She smiles unabashedly. "Great."


Her father and the guests from the Capitol should be out for a while. She has the house to herself.

She feels jittery as she opens the back door. His shoes are not muddy today, and she's glad to not have to implore him to take them off. He wears the soft gray shirt he's worn to school, his hair looks pleasantly tousled from the wind.

She hopes she doesn't look like she's trying too hard. She's wearing her favorite sundress today, and her hair tied up in a ribbon. He smiles as a greeting.

They go over to the piano, him pulling out the bench for them.

She drinks in the image of him in her house, him sitting next to her, the sleeve of his shirt grazing her arm.

She opens the sheet music, and she watches him squint slightly looking at the notes.

"How do you know what keys to play from this?" He asks skeptically.

"It's sheet music. The notes correspond to different keys, and such." She explains. She never really gave reading music a second thought, it was just something that musicians did. But she guessed most of the players in the Seam played by hand.

"You've got to be really smart to figure that out." He replies sparsely. She hopes she isn't blushing too hard.

She bites her lip, and starts to play.

Her nimble fingers fly over the keys.

He lets himself forget everything, about Vick still sick at home, about how that's only the least of his worries. About how unsure everything seems to be lately, about how he only thinks about getting through the day, about how he was always the man with the plans, and now he's walking blind through a field of troubles.

He watches her, taking her in as she focuses and breathes into the music.

He suddenly wishes he could reach out and brush her hair behind her ear and take her hands in his and kiss her until he forgets who he is, and all he can remember is her.

It starts to rain, a soft patter against the closed windows with the white curtains billowing around it. A soft, warm rain, a companion to the tune from the piano she plays.

And he realizes that she is so much more than he ever imagined. More than a beautiful, spoiled mayor's daughter. How good she is with Posy. How she stood up to him when he was being an asshole, but how she forgave him gladly.

And how she felt in his arms when they danced together and her smile when he said goodnight.

Her fingernails are clean. His are dirty.

And therein lies the painful difference.

But he's tired. So fucking tired of this aching pain that sprouts from him not being good enough to pursue her.

Because maybe he's exactly what she needs. And maybe he can't keep fighting off these feelings anymore...

The front door to the large house opens loudly, filling with muffled high-pitched laughter and trivial conversation.

Her eyes widen, and she stands up abruptly. The music cuts off as her fingers fly off the instrument and the paper sheets fall to the floor soundlessly.

"You've got to get out of here." She whispers sharply, taking his hand and leading him quickly out the back door. The screen door flies open and she pushes him out onto the porch, sounds of raindrops falling loudly against the roof.

"You... you play perfectly." He finds himself saying.

She blushes. It's beautiful. "Thanks, but I've got a long way to go before it's perfect."

She's leaning against the screen door, and she's got to get back in there or her father will get anxious.

But he's standing there, against the dull gray background of rain. Nothing's ever stood out the way he has, with his dark hair and tanned skin and his sharp words and mood swings but underneath them so much more hiding beneath the surface, so much ferocity and ambition and love.

So she lets the screen door shut and steps a little closer to him. He smells like woodsmoke.

"I love the way you play." He finds himself saying. It's the most honest thing he's ever said to her, and his eyes, for once are alive. Unguarded, and it startles her in the most pleasant way.

And before she can register it, he's stepping closer to her and she's leaning into him.

He looks down at her, her brushed blond hair half up half down, falling down her shoulders like rivers of gold. And the light behind her eyes. The strap of her dress is sliding half off her shoulder, but she doesn't seem to notice.

He wants her – right now. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to hers blindly, hands finding her hips.

She is like the sun through the trees, she is honey and yellow and light. And her lips are softer than wool and petals of flowers and anything he has ever experienced in his life.

He is caught up in this moment, here, now, the giving in. He is kissing Madge Undersee, and he doesn't want to stop.

She has no idea what to do with her arms – they hang next to her limply, but she doesn't even care because of what Gale's lips are doing to hers.

She can't breathe. She can't think. This must be a dream.

Gale Hawthorne is kissing her. On her back porch. And she is kissing him back.

And she's alive, every molecule of her body finally feels like it's being awakened for the first time.

He's finally the one to pull away, his hands still burning holding her hips. And the way she looks up at him, lips a little swollen, makes him want to kiss her again and never stop.

But he hears the voices inside the house and is rudely reminded of reality. His hands slide off her hips, and into his pockets, as he backs away from her.

"Bye Madge." He says, a step closer to the rain and away from her.

She looks blankly at him, she can't think of anything fun or witty to say, but he doesn't seem to mind. He only smiles, and takes that last step into the rain, his hands still shoved into his pockets.

"…Bye." She murmurs after him. She watches him walk away, his shirt becoming darkened by the raindrops. His shoulders are hunched up against the weather.

Her hand flies up to her lips.

She finally remembers her father inside, and the guests from the Capitol, and her agreement to play at dinner tonight. She shoves her blond hair behind her ears, trying (in vain) to collect herself before she goes back inside.


A/N: W000000000000T GADGE KISS!

And I know almost every scene now seems like it's at lunch. That'll change, I promise. I hope everyone's been well since I last updated! Thanks to everyone that reviewed!


Please review!