"I'm like 99% sure you picked the worst time to move," Finnick heaves at Peeta as they struggle to carry a large bookshelf up the stairs of Peeta's newly renovated townhome.
I've known Peeta was planning on leaving the hotel for a while, but the reality of it never hit me until now. He bought this house a couple of years ago when he first ran for city councilman, but decided to renovate it before running for congress. Its a cute three story brick townhouse in Society Hill, close to the city but not too busy. Its 10 minutes from work and a 5 minute walk from nightlife, but an aggravating 25 minute drive from the hotel.
I shake away the unsettling feeling this move is giving me and try to focus on something more important - like the way Peeta's back muscles flex as he carries furniture, or the look he gives me to let me know we're going to christen his bed as soon as everyone is out of the house.
But the rational side of me reminds me that Finnick is right - this is probably the worst time to be dealing with the stress of moving. We have exactly 1 week before the primaries, which would be the first step towards that seat in congress. All the democrats in the district would band together to choose either him or Enobaria to continue to the general election, where that person would face off against the republican nominee. Everyone on the campaign is trying to stay positive after last week's poll put Peeta and Enobaria neck and neck, but I can tell Peeta is more nervous than he lets on by the way he quickly changes the topic anytime anyone brings it up.
That night, I find myself rolling my eyes as Peeta urges me to stay with him, claiming he can't be alone in his big house. "What if someone breaks in? Who's going to protect me?" His blue eyes are playful in a way I haven't seen in a long time, and I can't help but feel my heart swell as I refuse.
"You're a big boy," I say with a sigh. All my stuff is at the hotel, and it's already nearing 11:30. I'd much rather sleep at the hotel than have to wake up and rush over to get my stuff.
He bites his lip, letting out a sigh of his own. For a second I see Peeta for what he really is -an overworked 30 year old with too much on his plate. From his sitting position on the mattress, I can see how badly he needs a break in the way he keeps nervously running a hand through his hair. He looks up at me. "I don't sleep well without you," he confesses, his voice so quiet I almost don't hear it.
And I know it wasn't his intentions, but I'm overcome with guilt at his words. "I vowed to never sleep on a mattress on a floor ever again the day I graduated from college," I say softly, dropping my bag next to the door. "But theres a lot of things I'd do for you that I wouldn't do for anyone else." His arms welcome me wide, and I quickly find myself wrapped up in his arms with nothing covering me but the thin top sheet.
The Pennsylvania Democrats Association's annual gala is more extravagant than I ever could have expected. Hosted in a large ballroom at the Ritz Carlton, I'm slightly in awe by all the rich and powerful people dressed in expensive suits and gowns. Peeta looks as handsome as ever in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo with a navy blue bowtie to match my chiffon and lace pleated gown.
"You look gorgeous tonight," Peeta whispers in my ear for the millionth time as we make our way around the room, smiling at everyone. "I swear, every man in this room can't keep their eyes off of you, I might have to fight someone," he jokes, making a fist with the hand that isn't on the small of my back.
I laugh out loud, leaning my head against his shoulder. I'm too busy looking up at him to notice a man making his way across the room towards us, suddenly surprised when we are face to face with Seneca Crane. I feel Peeta's hand drop from my back as he goes to shake Seneca's hand.
"I've heard a lot about you, Peeta Mellark." he says, giving him a firm handshake before offering me his hand as well. "And you too Miss Everdeen. The work you've done on this campaign, as well as past projects in D.C. continue to amaze me."
I raise my eyebrows in shock, surprised that he's heard of me outside the context of Peeta Mellark's girlfriend. "Why thank you," I manage to get out, unable to wrap my head around a compliment from the Pennsylvania Democrat Association's head chairperson. "I think it goes without saying that I'm a fan of you and all the work you've done for this party."
He lets out a humble laugh, waving off my compliment. "Oh it's nothing, but I appreciate your admiration. I actually came over to talk to Mr. Mellark here privately for a few moments, so I'm hoping you don't mind me stealing your partner."
Peeta looks at me for confirmation, and I agree without question. "Not at all."
Peeta bends down to give me a chaste kiss on the cheek before following Mr. Crane into the crowd. "I'll be back soon," he assures me. I watch the back of his blonde head as the two men make their way through the swarm of people, smiling to myself.
I don't see him again until over an hour later, when he comes up behind me as I'm talking to some old acquaintances that I met in the D.C. circuit. They all give Peeta small waves as he wraps his arm around my waist. "And this is my partner, Peeta Mellark." I can tell something's different by the way he's not being overly friendly like he usually is, but when his hand starts making its way from my hips to my ass, I know what's up. "Excuse us," I say to my friends before grabbing Peeta by the hand and going off into a corner. "Are you drunk?" I ask, more confused than annoyed.
"Noooo," he whispers in my ear, the champagne evident on his breath. I can't help but laugh at his bad lie, swatting his hands away when he tries to grab me again. He momentarily loses his balance, grabbing onto my shoulders to steady himself. "Ok, maybe a little," he confesses sheepishly.
While I'm usually all for a drunk, handsy Peeta, I realize that this is the worst place for him to show his affection. "Well if you can't keep your hands to yourself, let's get you home, Ok?" For the first time in my life I don't mind playing mommy to the drunk adult, secretly looking forward to getting back to Peeta's house and taking off these painful heels. Peeta manages to keep it together as we walk out, flashing his charming smile to anybody who looks his way.
It's midnight before we stumble through the door to his house, it taking me much longer to open his door with his body pressing into me from behind, planting wet open mouth kisses on my neck. "You're drunk Peeta, let's get you to bed," I say, too exhausted to go along with whatever he's trying to do. He won't stop mumbling and rambling as we climb the stairs, his words running into each other.
"I have the prettiest girlfriend in the world," comes out clearly, and I bite my lip. Theres no point in responding - he hasn't given a coherent response to anything I've said, so I just let him be.
"Can you get yourself undressed?" I ask as he sits on the bed. "Your pretty girlfriend needs to take off all her makeup." He nods, and I grab one of his t-shirt from his dresser before disappearing into the bathroom.
When I come back I'm not surprised to see him lying down flat on the bed, still dressed in his tuxedo and dress shoes. He sits up when I sigh deeply, sending me a goofy grin before flopping back down on the bed. "Help me please?" Peeta slurs innocently. Rolling my eyes, I move to the end of the bed to start unlacing his shoes when he starts talking again. "I have the nicest girlfriend in the world, shes so nice and so pretty."
"Oh Peeta, stop that," I say, hoping he can't see me blush in the dark room. I drop his shoes on the ground, climbing over him to work on his pants. "Hips up," I command, feeling more motherly than ever. I hear him moan as my hands graze over his crotch, but I almost laugh because sex is the farthest thing from my mind.
"You looked so beautiful tonight," he mumbles, his need for sleep evident in his voice. "Not a single woman in that room could even compare to you." By the time I strip him of his tuxedo jacket, his eyes are closed and he's fading fast.
"Thank you," I whisper, not even sure if he's awake to hear it.
When he's finally left in only his boxers, I sneak into bed with him, my back pressed against his chest. I'm close to sleep coming over me, when I hear Peeta adjust himself behind me. "I love you," he breathes softly into my ear. His breathing evens out, but I'm frozen besides him. Despite being wrapped up in my boyfriend's warm arms, sleep doesn't manage to find me.
"So let me get this straight. You're calling me to complain that your attractive, smart, accomplished boyfriend said I love you?" I hear Madge say over the phone, her tone unamused. "Is there something I'm missing?"
Hearing her repeat my story out loud to me makes me realize how ridiculous I sound, but I still feel hopelessly confused. "But he didn't mention anything in the morning, so I'm not even sure he remembers saying it. I feel like we should talk about it because it's such a big step in our relationship but I don't want to change anything incase he didn't really mean it." Just saying those words out loud make my stomach tighten, a sudden burst of anxiety rushing over me.
However, I'm slightly reassured by the scoff Madge gives me. "I don't even want to hear you say that, because with the way he talks about you theres no way he's not head over heels in love with you. I'm pretty sure this kid thinks the sun shines out of your ass, and let me tell you, I know it's not always pretty down there." I can't help but laugh at Madge's candid, but honest remarks.
"You really think so?"
"I know so. And if you love him too, what's the problem?" I pause, trying to think of an answer to her rhetorical question. I can almost feel her smirking from the other end of the phone when I come up with nothing. "Exactly. Listen babe, I gotta go, but I hope you work everything out with loverboy. Call me later, ok?"
"Alright," I reply. "Love you."
After hanging up the phone with Madge I sit in my hotel room, pondering the connotations of the word love. How can I tell my friend who's over two hundred miles away that I love her with such ease, but hesitate saying it to the man who shares my bed every other night? My family was never big on the I love yous, save for Prim. Any time I've said it to my mom or vice versa, it comes out as forced and uncomfortable. From what I remember, my mom and dad were less verbal with their displays of affection, showing their love in gifts and songs and other small tokens.
The words I love you remind me of my mom, and how after dad died all she could say was, "I loved him." It reminds me of nights going to bed hungry, wishing my mom would even try to get out of bed. Those were all bad memories, and I don't want to categorize my time with Peeta as anything like that.
In the three months that we've been together, I've had nothing but a great time. Whether it's sitting in the same room reading our respective newspapers, or debating over politics before work, his presence feels so normal and welcomed. I never knew how much I liked being held at night until I met Peeta, and it doesn't hurt that he never objects when I press my cold feet into his calves. But by saying "I love you," it's making whatever we have more permanent, and for some reason that incites fear.
My buzzing cell phone brings me out of my thoughts, the screen flashing the one name I can't stop thinking about.
You still want me to come over? [Sent 10:40 PM]
I bite my lip before responding.
Save your energy, I'll be dead asleep by the time you make it here. [Delivered 10:41 PM]
I'm more than exhausted at this point, not to mention that I promised myself I would start looking at apartment listings tonight. Peeta coming over would mean I wouldn't get anything done. As if he can tell I'm thinking about him, my phone buzzes again.
I've got meetings all day tomorrow, I doubt I'll have time to catch you before the campaign dinner [Sent 10:43 PM]
So goodnight gorgeous [Sent 10:43 PM]
I roll my eyes at his term of endearment - I don't think I could ever get used to being called beautiful or gorgeous.
Night Peeta, I'll see you tomorrow [Delivered 10:44 PM]
I don't think it hits me that the primaries are tomorrow until I'm seated at a local Italian restaurant with all my co-workers, and Haymitch clears his throat. Finnick, who's sitting next to me, gives me an over exaggerated eye roll and I have to stop myself from laughing.
"We have spent the past 5 months leading up to this day. All the overtime, stress, and overall work you have put into this campaign will be judged tomorrow. The polls have this race marked as a toss up, but I believe that we can win this vote." Despite being on his fourth glass of wine, Haymitch is surprisingly coherent and even more surprisingly motivating. "It has been a pleasure working with all of you, and I thank you for all your efforts. I hope that we will have until November, but if the odds are against us, I can confidently say everyone tried their hardest."
We all clap, and my heart swells for Haymitch. He is the one responsible for giving me this opportunity, and it's been an experience I couldn't get anywhere else. Aside from the death glare I'm receiving from Delly, I wouldn't change a thing.
Everyone is in a good mood, but I'm even more surprised when I feel a tap on my shoulder from Johanna on my left. I can tell she's tipsy but not drunk as she opens her mouth. "Look," she starts, and her words slowly finding their way out of her mouth. "I know I've been a bitch to you, and I want to apologize. You've been getting a lot of unnecessary shit, but I respect a woman who can get a man like Peeta and still stay professional." She doesn't look offended at my look of disbelief. "I know Delly has her thing with you, but I'm over it."
I'm still hesitant to accept her apology, but the look on her face looks sincere enough. "It's ok Johanna," I get out. "We're good." She smiles before returning to her seat, and I sit in my seat, still surprised. I'm not sure if she finally realized we want the same thing, or if she wanted to end on a good note, but I don't question it.
After dinner is over we all file out of the restaurant, and I walk ahead to catch up with Peeta. I hadn't gotten a chance to talk to him all day, and it didn't help that Finnick and I got there too late to get a seat next to him. He smiles when I loop my arm in his, leaning down to press a kiss to my temple. "You wanna take a walk?" He asks, nodding his head in the direction of the Schuylkill river promenade.
I nod in agreement, knowing that saying no isn't an option. We've been tip-toeing around having the "talk" about what would happen to us after the primaries, and time has run out.
We walk hand in hand in a comfortable silence, but I can tell Peeta wants to say something. "Are you nervous?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"It's just crazy to think that tomorrow might be it," he breaths almost solemnly. "But theres nothing we can do about it now, I guess." He sounds way more nonchalant than I expected to, and it makes me more afraid of what I'm going to say.
I take a deep breath, my practiced words falling out of my mouth. "No matter what the results say tomorrow, I just want to let you know that I'm still here. As a friend, advisor, or lover." I'm ready to continue, but I find myself being cut off by Peeta.
"Katniss," he says, clearing his voice. We stop walking, the moonlight illuminating his face as he turns to me. "I love you," he says, his confession rolling off his tongue. When I hear the words this time, they cause a flood of warmth to spread to every part of my body.
His eyes are trying to read me, and I can't help but smile as I pull his face closer to mine. "I know," I breath before capturing his lips in a kiss. His arms wrap around me tight and his lips follow mine. I pull away first, just to see the look of anticipation on his face. "And I love you too," I whisper, his face lighting up.
"Thank god," Peeta exclaims quietly, letting out a deep breath. "For a second I thought you were going to go Han Solo on me," he admits sheepishly.
"Well, how else am I supposed to keep you on your toes?" I retort back innocently, brushing his hair out of his face, and cradling his jaw in my hand. We stay there together until a gust of wind rushes by, and Peeta offers me his sweater after feeling the goosebumps on my arms. "We should probably head back to your house," I say, a yawn interrupting my sentence. "I have a long day tomorrow."
Saying I have a long day is more of an understatement, but when my alarm goes off at 5:00 l don't hesitate before waking Peeta up with a good luck blowjob. Hearing him moan my name over and over again brings me enough pleasure, but he willingly pays me back with his hands and mouth in the shower.
When I emerge from his bedroom fully dressed, I'm glad to see Peeta waiting for me with a cup of coffee. I accept the coffee graciously, but raise my eyebrows at his boxers only attire. "What are your plans for today?" I ask. Because the candidates aren't allowed to be present at polling stations, Peeta's options for the day are limited. I'm sure Haymitch has something planned for him before his primary election party, but I'm still envious at his free time.
"After you leave I'll probably go back to sleep," he says with a small smile, running his hand through his hair. "And then I have meetings with speech writers and public speech coaches, then strategy talks with Haymitch and Effie, but that's about it."
I glance at the time on the microwave, sighing as I move to get my bag ready. "You have no idea how jealous I am. Delly and I are both in charge of phone banks and managing all the volunteers, which should be fun." I say, the sarcasm heavy in my voice. The Mellark 2014 team is working hard on getting the last minute votes, having volunteers and interns at all the major community spots reminded people to vote for Peeta, along with phone calls, emails, and even a radio reminder done by Johanna.
"Well, whatever you're doing, you're going to be great at it," he encourages with a genuine smile, catching up with me at the door. "Keep me updated."
I peck him on the lips, surprised at how comfortable I am with this domesticity. "I will. Call me if you need anything," I remind him before ducking out the door.
14 hours later I find myself being dragged into an empty coat closet at Peeta's primary election party, 5 minutes before the final results are being broadcast on TV. I'm about to snap at whoever responsible until I see it's Peeta, but not the same Peeta who was out there laughing and smiling. This man looks like he's on the break of a nervous breakdown, tension obvious in his neck and clenched fists.
"I'm nervous," he confesses, his dimples standing out in the dim light. "Really, really, nervous." The last prediction had Enobaria with the win, but there were still thousands of more votes to be counted.
I grab his hand and give it a firm squeeze. "Peeta, listen to me," I command sternly. "Breathe in, and breathe out. Breathe in, and breathe out." He mimics my breathing, his eyes screwed shut. "Everything is going to be ok. All the polls are already closed, what's done is done and you and I both know you tried your hardest," I soothe.
He nods with me, opening his arms for a hug. "Thank you," he says, resting his head on my shoulder.
"No problem." I pull away slightly so I can look him in the eye. "I love you," I confess, the words sounding foreign in my mouth.
"I know," Peeta replies smugly, pulling me in for a kiss. "Now let's get out of here before Haymitch comes looking for us."
Peeta's hand doesn't leave mine as we reenter the crowd of people here to support Mellark 2014. Everyone is gathered around the large TV, hanging on to the reporter's every word.
The local news anchor is slipped a piece of paper, turning to face the camera as he reads it. "For Philadelphia's 12th district, with 100% of the votes counted, your republican nominee is Alma Coin." The room is dead silent - Coin's re-election by her party was almost guaranteed. "And for the Democrats," he starts, and I can't tell who is grabbing whose hand harder. "Your nominee is Peeta Mellark."
And suddenly the room erupts into chaos, yet I find comfort and solace wrapped in Peeta's arms.
