We walk back to the village in silence. I listen to the gravel crunching under our shoes and I try to think of something, anything I can say to Peeta to make this right. Haymitch peels off as we reach his house and Peeta and I are left standing awkwardly outside mine.

"I wasn't acting like your friend. I am your friend," I say. Peeta ruminates over my words, but for once he doesn't have anything to say back. He's speechless.

"Things are just… they are different than I thought they were," Peeta finally replies, trying not to meet my eyes.

"Peeta," I step forward and raise my hand to his face, my fingertips gently pushing a piece of hair from his eyes. My olive skin looks so dark against his; it almost looks like we're from two entirely different parts of the world, not a few minutes' walk across town. He reaches up and takes my wrist gently, pulling it away from him.

"You shouldn't," he starts.

"I'm your friend," I interrupt, but I know all I'm doing is confusing him.

"And I'm engaged," he says, his words cutting. He looks at me, trying to bury the lovesick in his eyes but failing miserably. "We can't be together like that anymore."

I know what he's saying without his having to say it. We're friends, yes. But most friends don't spend the night together. Most friends don't wake up with a scream stuck in their throat and only come down when their friend assures them they are alive. Most friends don't unknot each other's hair and tangle their fingers until they can't feel pain or hurt anymore. Most friends don't get lost in each other. We can't be what we are to each other. Whatever it is between us may be less than lovers, but it's more than friends.

Whatever it is. It's over.

He sticks out his hand and I slide mine in his. His palm feels hot against mine, and we shake hands like we're ending some kind of business transaction, except when it's over we stand with our hands clasped between us, each waiting for the other to break first. To force the goodbye.

I'd never expect it to be Peeta. He pulls his hand from mine and turns toward his house. He pauses and looks back at me over his shoulder.

"Don't come over tonight," he whispers.

"But –"

"There are cameras. They could charge me with adultery," Peeta says. Adultery. I try to pull the word from the back of my head. It's not a law anyone enforces anymore, but it's still technically on the books. Being unfaithful to one's spouse or betrothed. Snow could use it.

"But we're not –" I don't bother finishing. We look at each other.

"Night," Peeta says finally, slipping inside his house.

I spend the night staring at my ceiling. I can't make sense of any of this. How will Snow react to the news about Peeta's engagement? Maybe the paperwork hasn't been filed with the Capitol yet. There hasn't been a train since our arrival. If the paperwork hasn't gone yet, we could steal it. Destroy it. I know that's not realistic, though. They have some kind of electronic document transfer. The information has likely already reached Snow's desk.

Why doesn't Snow just fix this? Our houses are bugged, he has to know this wasn't us. I fantasize for a moment about Peacekeepers storming the bakery and dragging Mrs. Mellark away in handcuffs. That's not his play, though, Haymitch said. He can't make exceptions. The law in Panem is the law. It's how he keeps control over the districts. Consequences are swift, harsh, and often deadly. He can't afford any gray area. Every part of this machine is carefully crafted to suppress the people, to enforce control. Even the arranged marriages are to bolster the class system. As long as the people are focused on hating each other, they can't focus on hating the Capitol.

I pad down to the kitchen and pour myself a cup of tea. I stare at the steaming mug and realize I'm never sleeping without Peeta, not on my own. I cross to my mother's medicine cabinet and find the small glass bottle of sleep syrup. I pour the sticky sweet liquid in my tea, but before I return the cap I drop an extra dose in. I put the medicine back in the cabinet and head up to my room. I chug the entire mug, even though it's hot and burns my throat. I barely slide the mug onto my nightstand before I pass out.

The Arena blooms around me and swallows me whole. I spend what feels like hours circling this hell, not ready for which freakish memory will haunt me. I pass Rue's corpse, ghoulish and disturbing. I try to close my eyes but I can still see, like my eyelids are made of glass. Her jaw hangs loose from her face and makes her pretty smile fall of kilter. She's just a little girl. A cannon blasts and I realize I have no idea where Peeta is. I try to scream his name but my voice is hoarse and the sound that comes out reminds me of a hissing cat. I shoot off in a random direction, although I have no idea where he is. I scream again and again but each time it becomes harder and I strain more. The Arena suddenly tips on its side and I feel like I'm falling. I stumble on my feet but when I look down one of my legs is missing. The shock of it makes my stomach turn and I fall to the ground. I drag myself forward, screaming Peeta's name, but this terror won't end. I can't find something real, I can't pull myself out. Suddenly Prim is in front of me, her voice sweet like a bird, but her teeth start falling out of her mouth, crumbling into little bits. "You'll never find him," she whispers through a mouthful of rocks. "Peeta!" I scream out again, and then something grabs me, finds me, yanks me from this nightmare.

When I come to Peeta is in my bed, his knees on either side of my hips. I'm sitting up with my face pressed against his chest and he's rocking me slowly, whispering my name over and over.

"Wake up, Katniss. I'm right here. Wake up," he says calmly. This is what's real. Peeta, in my bed. Not the teeth shards. Not the Arena.

"You aren't supposed to be here," I whisper through cloudy eyes, but I wrap my arms so tightly around his chest he couldn't leave if he wanted to. I see my mother and sister pressed back against my bedroom wall. Prim looks utterly terrified. I've shielded them from my nightmares so far, but with the sleep syrup I couldn't get out. I was stuck. "I'm sorry," I choke, then it hits me. Peeta's not safe here. He was probably caught on camera crossing to my house. I take my hands and shove them against his chest. "You have to go, now! What if they find you here?"

My mother gives us a look, my words not making any sense to her.

"I'm not leaving you like this," Peeta answers, pushing the sweat-drenched hair off my forehead.

"I'm awake," I insist, but I can already tell it's a losing battle. The sleep syrup is still strong in my veins. Maybe I took too much. I can't really focus on him, on anything. I just want to fall back on my pillow. Prim comes bouncing back into the room with a steaming mug of coffee. I chug that too, much like I did the sleep syrup. It doesn't really help, it just makes it feel like the chemicals in my body are at war.

I hear him saying something to my mother. I don't listen to the words, but the lull of his voice is already rocking me under and I feel my eyes slip closed.

"Katniss!" Peeta says, shaking my shoulders. "Come on, let's get out of bed," he insists, standing and sweeping the covers back. My mother's eyes stare at my bare legs, how Peeta hardly reacts, like this is all normal for him. "Pants," he says, turning to my dresser and digging a pair of loose pajama bottoms from the drawer. He turns back to me. "We're getting up," he announces.

"It's the middle of the night," I complain as my head bobs. I hardly notice as he slides the pants over my legs, though my mother does. Her mouth is pressed in a line. Prim has a little half smile on her face that she tries to bury when I catch her staring. "What?" I ask.

"Just nice to see you get bossed around for a change," she teases. Peeta grabs my hands and pulls me to my feet. I feel like a ragdoll, the syrup making my muscles heavy and slack. Peeta's fingers tie the knot at the waistband of the pants and I can feel my mother's eyes boring into me.

"Come on, I'm teaching you to make bread," he announces. I follow, albeit uncooperatively.

"Can I make bread?" Prim asks, excited.

"No, we're going to bed," my mother announces. She squeezes my hand tightly before shifting her eyes to Peeta's. She doesn't like him here in the middle of the night. She doesn't like how comfortable and familiar we look together. But she knows I need him to make it through the night. "It will be a few hours before she's out of it. Sleep syrup makes your dreams more vivid. You shouldn't let her sleep until it's worked its way through her system."

Peeta nods and I follow him down the stairs with sloppy feet. I try to sit on the kitchen stool but he insists I stand. I lean on the counter, everything feeling heavy and blurry.

"I thought we weren't doing this anymore," I say. I try to scowl but all of my face muscles feel like lead. He ignores me. Peeta sets out a bowl and everything he needs on the counter. "I'm awake, Peeta. You can't stay. They could send Peacekeepers."

"They wouldn't tonight. I came here with your sister. And your mom's here. It's not like…" He lets the words drift off. "I'm not leaving you. Let's bake."

I hear him talking. I watch his hands. I even measure a few things and put them in the bowl, but I'm not retaining anything. It's making me nauseous forcing myself awake. Peeta rubs my hands and presses this pressure point on my palm that settles my stomach.

"Okay, now we have to knead," he says, flipping the dough from the bowl onto the floured counter. I put my hand in the dough and try to copy his movements but my arms are so tired. "Here," he whispers, coming up behind me, his chest pressed to my back. His arms slip over mine, his hands meet my hands in the dough. He starts to knead with me and I feel his arms bulk with each roll of the dough. It makes my stomach tickle in an unfamiliar way. "Katniss?"

I turn my head to acknowledge I heard him, but I don't answer.

"You're not breathing," he says softly.

"I forgot to," I say and his movements still. I drop my weight back against his chest and I can feel his heart hammering against me.

"What are you doing?" he whispers as my fingers trace tiny circles on his arms.

He swallows hard and his hands drift from the counter to my hips. He pauses, waiting for me to react. I turn my head slightly and nuzzle my face into his neck, my lips brushing against his hot skin. He breathes in before his hands slip under my shirt and against my skin. They are covered in flour. I grip the counter hard as he moves slowly up my body. He traces a path up my stomach, along my ribs.

I drop my eyes closed and his mouth slides to my ear. "Open your eyes," he breathes. I know it's because I need to stay awake, but it makes everything about what is happening between us that much more real. I watch as his hand glides upward and grazes the lower edge of my breast. I've never been touched like this before, I've never even thought of being touched like this before. I don't know what to expect. I can hear us both breathing and I rock my hips back into him. The breath turns to a soft moan as his hands cling desperately to my skin. I repeat the motion and he buries his face in my neck, trying to stifle the noises he is making. My lower stomach clenches and I don't know what my body is doing, how or why it's reacting like it is.

"Up," I beg quietly. Peeta's body stills entirely as his hand slides gently over my breast. He lets out a shaky breath. Everything is so sensitive that I whimper slightly as his thumb slides across my nipple.

"Oh god," he breathes. His palms are rough and I can feel the flour on my skin, but it's exhilarating. His fingers are light. I feel my nipple grow hard under his thumb, and he bites my neck softly as he tries to muffle the rumbling in his throat. When I whimper he drops his hands suddenly and grasps the counter like a lifeline.

"What are we doing?" he asks on a breath.

"I don't know," I confess.

"Are you awake now?" he asks. I nod. He draws away from me and suddenly the kitchen feels very cold. "Good," Peeta says. I don't turn around. I allow him his privacy as he slips back out the door.