AN: This IS NOT a Peeta x Prim story. I do not pair 16 year olds with 12 year olds. Just wanted to clear that up before anyone starts asking. And has anyone else noticed how the chapters are starting to get longer?

Also, I'm planning two new stories: One will be a oneshot about the original "boy-with-the-bread" moment (from the beginning of HG), and the other will be a longer story about an original character in the Hunger Games, a few years before Katniss.

Peeta and I turn to leave the claustrophobic compartment, and...

Haymitch is still lying facedown in his own vomit. We exchange a glance, and I nod slightly. I grab one of Haymitch's arms, and Peeta grabs the other. He's unconscious, which isn't a surprise after Peeta and I left him alone for so long. I feel a bit guilty. After all, I've spent my entire life training to be a healer, and now look what I did. Then again, if he was conscious, he'd probably be making a huge racket. We start to drag him to his room. Midway through the trip, he wakes up. I half expect him to puke, but he thankfully doesn't. He just groans loudly and continues to let himself be dragged along.

By the time that Peeta and I reach Haymitch's compartment, I'm exhausted. I don't exercise much, so I'm pretty weak. "Can you, ah, take care of him?" I ask Peeta. I really want to go to my compartment and relax while I still have the opportunity.

To my relief, Peeta says yes, and within a few short minutes, I am lying on my bed. But the thoughts that run through my head are of my impending doom, a.k.a., the Hunger Games. I relieve every moment of the day, up to this point. When I get to Siris's visit, I bolt upright.

Siris. The cloth. I run over to the laundry chute, hoping that I can see where it goes. When I stick my head into the hole, I sigh with relief. This is a train. There's only one floor. What I thought to be a laundry chute is actually...

Well, I don't what it is. It might be a trash can. But my reaping outfit is still in there. I pull my shirt out, reach into the pocket and find the cloth that Siris gave me. I hug it to my chest. It's a little dirty, but I don't care. I don't know what the Capitol washing machines will do to the fine lace, and the dirtiness kind of reminds me of home.

Home. My mom. Katniss. Gale. Siris. Life back home might've been tough, but it's better than what I'm going through right now. Sure, in the weeks leading up to the Games, I'll have every luxury the Capitol has to offer, but once I'm in the arena, I've got what? Three days? One day? An few hours? A few minutes? As far as I know, someone will kill me with brute force the second the starting gong sounds. Even if I don't participate in the initial bloodbath, the tributes from 1, 2, and 4 (who I call the Careers) will target me.

I flop back down on my bed and groan so loudly that if Peeta's back in his compartment, which is right next to mine, he can probably hear me. Peeta's the lucky one. He's 16, tall, and muscular. I'm 12, short and have no meat on my bones whatsoever. But I'm not jealous of him. He must be feeling just as bad as I do.

There's a knock on my door. I wearily get up from the bed and open it. "Peeta?"

"Hey, Prim."

"I'm assuming Haymitch is, uh, cleaned up?"

"Yeah." Peeta looks around, and there's an awkward silence. "Can I come in?"

"Oh, sure," I exclaim, stepping aside so he can fit through the doorway.

I sit down on a sofa, and he sits next to me. "I'm, um, sorry about Katniss, Prim."

"Well, better me than her, if you know what I mean. Without me, Katniss and my mom will be just fine. One less mouth to feed. Without Katniss, well, we'd be dead in a few months."

Peeta nods solemnly. "I know what you mean. My family will also be fine without me. I've got a bunch of brothers, one boy won't make a difference."

I look up at him thoughtfully. So even Peeta, the baker's son, knows what it's like to be insignificant. "I wish I was Katniss..."

As I say this, a strange look passes over Peeta's face. A sort of... realization? "I love her, you know. Katniss. Always have. Considering I'll be dead in a matter of days, I probably always will."

Peeta says this in such a casual way that it takes a few seconds for the full meaning of what he's said to sink in. When I realize what he's just stated, I forget all the manners my mother taught me and say, "WHAT?" Then I realize that I'm not being polite and calmly ask, "But, well, how do you even know her? She's from the Seam, and you're well, not from the Seam."

"Um, well, one day at school, the teacher asked if anyone knew the Valley Song, and Katniss did, so she went up to the front of the class and sang it, and she had a really nice voice. We were only about seven, but when I saw her up there, I knew that I loved her."

Peeta's face is turning red as he says this, and I feel a little bad that I asked how he knew Katniss. But I'm also curious, and I can tell there's more to the story, so I say, very carefully, "Was there anything else that happened?"

He turns even redder. "Yes," he whispers, "A few years ago, er, right after you father, ah, died, I saw Katniss walking around by my house. I could tell she was looking for food, so I purposely burnt a few bread rolls. Of course, my mother wouldn't let me sell them to customers, so she told me to go out and feed them to the pigs. But I didn't feed them to the pigs. I gave them to Katniss." It takes a bit of thinking, but I soon remember the day he's talking about. One day, Katniss came home with rolls that I knew couldn't have been cheap. Our mom asked how much she spent on them, but she said they were a gift, thought she wouldn't say who it was from. Now I know.

"Now you know what?" Peeta says, obviously confused. Oops. I hadn't noticed that I had voiced my last thought.

"Nothing," I say, and then yawn. "Well, Peeta, I think I'm going to bed. 'Night."

"Good night, Prim."

After Peeta leaves, I change into orange flannel pajamas that are by far the softest things I've felt today (and I've felt a lot of soft things), then climb into bed.

As I bury my small face into the huge pillow, I sigh. I have a feeling that tomorrow will be a big, big day.