Peeta waits until we're outside on the sidewalk, gulping in lungfuls of clean, crisp air. He gives me a few seconds to recover before he drops my hand. I feel oddly unbalanced without his fingers laced through mine, but I don't give that thought any more weight than it deserves.

"Katniss, are you—" he starts to ask, but before he can say another word, I bring my palms to his chest and push him away roughly. He stumbles back, manages to right himself. The shock registers plainly on his face.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I shout at him. I'm feeling more coherent than I have all night. The ground has stopped swooping and rolling under my feet. Now that my mind has cleared, somewhat, I channel all my energy into screaming at him. Sucking vitriol into my lungs and breathing fire in his face. "I didn't ask for your fucking help, did I?"

His jaw goes slack. "I—"

"I can handle myself," I snap at him, balling my skirt in my fists. "I don't need you swooping in and rescuing me like I'm some helpless sorority girl like… like your friend Glitter back there."

Peeta still looks stunned, but a flicker of a smile plays on his lips. "Glimmer," he corrects. Then he shakes his head. "I mean, Vanessa."

"Whatever," I huff. "I don't give a shit."

He opens his mouth like he's about to object, but thinks better of it and bites his lip instead.

I roll my eyes, turn my attention to the inky expanse of sky above me. The full moon, reminiscent of an oversized golf ball, starts rolling back and forth on an invisible track. My stomach clenches and I groan, suddenly affected by a wave of nausea. Peeta looks on with obvious concern as I feel myself tottering to the side. Maybe I'm not as sober as I thought.

"We should get you back to campus," he says, reaching forward to steady me. I'm not alert enough to shrug his warm hand off my shoulder. "Maybe sober you up a bit, while we're at it."

"I got a ride here," I mutter. "With Madge. I can't just—leave."

His lips twitch, but he fights to keep a straight face. "Somehow, I think she'll manage on her own," he says, nodding back to the frat house. Even from the sidewalk, the throbbing pulse of the music is audible. "Come on," Peeta says now, offering me a hand.

I resist, even though my resolve is already weakening. "I can't walk," I whine, aware that I sound like a petulant child, but too intoxicated to really care. "My feet hurt, and—"

Peeta smiles, shakes his head. "Who said anything about walking?"

When his hand curls around mine again, I don't put up a fight. I stumble along the sidewalk, trailing behind him, wondering how he can be so patient with me. Even though I shoved him. Even though I yelled at him.

He leads me to a parked car. Black, compact, a few scrapes and scuff marks. His, apparently, because he pulls a set of keys out of his jeans' back pocket and clicks a button to unlock the doors. And despite my weak protests, he opens the passenger-side door for me, helps me inside the car. "Just, try not to puke everywhere, okay?" he says with a wry smile. "Not that I don't love the smell of regurgitated Fireball, but…"

I groan. "Don't go there."

"Sorry," he laughs, and closes the door behind me.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. It's not a particularly pretty sight, with my hair falling out of my braid, black mascara smeared under my eyes. A crimson tint to my cheeks, though I can't tell if it's from the alcohol, or from something else. Either way, I'm humiliated.

Peeta climbs in the driver's seat, turns the key in the ignition, and pulls slowly out into the street. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. "You okay?" he asks, a note of real concern lacing his words. And I nod, just because I don't exactly trust myself with words right now, letting my head loll to the side and lean against the window.

It's a quiet ride. For the first two minutes, at least.

"Katniss…" Peeta starts, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. "You—you know that you can talk to me, right? About whatever's on your mind?" I lift my head from its prone position to shoot him a wary look. "I can tell something's bothering you."

"Oh, and you know me so well."

"I do," he replies evenly, glossing over my sharp-tongued retort. "I mean, I feel like I do."

I scoff. "Sure."

"You forget too quickly that I know you, Katniss Everdeen. I know that even though, admittedly, Haymitch is kind of unbearable, you care more about impressing him than anyone else in our class. I know that you don't skip class unless the professor literally throws you out. And," he turns to me with raised eyebrows. "I know you'd never go to a house party without someone dragging you there against your will. Or if you had a reason to go." Peeta's eyes skate over my face, searching for confirmation. "So. What's going on?"

I purse my lips tightly together. Tug my knees up to my chin and try to curl myself into a ball in the seat. If I disappear, it will be harder for the truth to slip out. "Nothing."

"Katniss. Come on." He sounds frustrated. Maybe even a little disappointed, like he really thought that speech of his was going to sway me.

My stomach sloshes. "I don't know what you want me to say," I mutter. He doesn't respond. Only the engine hums in response.

I could tell him. That I'm panicked that I'm in the wrong major. That I've made a huge mistake in coming here when I could have just gotten a job paying minimum wage instead. That the weight of his steady gaze makes me nervous because I know eventually, there will be consequences. I will have to acknowledge the bread.

But I don't. "I—I got a 53 on my theory paper," I stammer instead. I hear the words bubble up from the depths of me. They expand, fill the car like a poisonous gas. "I failed."

And it's so quiet. Like he doesn't know what to say, exactly, because he can't reassure me that it's not as bad as I think. Or maybe he thinks that it's kind of a ridiculous reason to get completely wasted. Maybe it sounds just the slightest bit melodramatic.

So I start laughing.

It's a hiccupping sob, at first, but it catches in my throat and gives way to a giggle. And before I know it, I'm in hysterics, laughing so hard that tears are pouring down my cheeks and I'm gasping for breath. Peeta looks petrified for a few seconds, maybe because I look certifiably insane, but then he starts to laugh, too. And it feels like the times we'd sit and laugh uncontrollably in the library, over something horrible and stupid, just because it felt good.

It feels good.

I have to swipe tears from the corners of my eyes when I'm done. And then I chance a glance at Peeta. He's staring at me, and it's a look that I've never seen in anyone's eyes before. "What?" I ask, the humor draining out of my voice. "Why are you looking at me like that?" I rub my fingers under my eyes, clean up my face a little, but he's still staring.

"Nothing," he says, but the word is colored with a smile. He shakes his head and goes back to watching the road unfurl in front of us. His fingers fumble with the radio dial until the car fills with static air and music blooms out of the speakers. A few moments pass before he speaks again, his eyes fixed straight ahead. "You should try smiling more often. It suits you."

I try to scowl, but end up grinning into my palms.

Before I know it, we're pulling into the student parking lot, which sits on the opposite end of campus. And while I'm fully prepared to climb out of the car and hobble back to my dorm, I realize that maybe I don't want to leave yet. It feels impossibly good, sitting in this heated car with classic rock playing faintly in the background, with Peeta Mellark. My… my friend. Who saved me.

"Shit," Peeta mutters as he puts the car in park. "You can't go back to your dorm like this."

"Look, I'm fine—"

"No, you're not. We need to sober you up a little. If you go stumbling through the doors right now, the DAs will know that you've been drinking." His eyebrows furrow in concern. "You can't get written up. I won't let you."

"Peeta—"

He turns in his seat to face me, a look of determination plastered on his face. "Do you want to get coffee?"

I stare back at him, a little confused by his intensity. "Um…" My gaze drifts to the clock on his dashboard. "Um, it's after 2 AM."

"Shit." His head falls back and hits the headrest. Is it just my flawed perception, or is he actually… disappointed?

But then he sits back up, renewed with energy. "Okay. I think I can fix this." He reaches for the center console, but before he throws the car into reverse, he glances at me. "Up for a drive?"

I nod, a little too vigorously. Maybe I'm not exactly tipsy anymore, but there's an incessant pounding in my head that only caffeine can fix at this point. "As long as there's coffee at the end of it."

Peeta grins. I can't help but notice how his eyes crinkle up when he does. "Oh, there's coffee," he says in a teasing lilt, slowly backing out of the parking space. "Have a little faith, Katniss."

My stomach swoops, but I suspect that it doesn't really have to do with my drinking. I swallow hard. Why are my palms so sweaty all of a sudden? I swipe them on my skirt, but it's no use.

And suddenly we're driving through Chestnut Hill, into the Borough. Familiar neighborhoods, fly past my window, illuminated only for a second by sweeping headlights. I turn to Peeta, eyes narrowed in confusion, but he just shakes his head and smiles. You'll see.

The car glides to a stop in an unfamiliar parking lot, the tires crunching gravel as they roll. Peeta flicks the headlights off and pulls the key out of the ignition, and everything around us is plunged into blackness. "Where are we?" I ask, my voice trembling a little. I hear Peeta's laugh coming from my left, then the sound of his seatbelt unbuckling.

"Hold on." His door creaks open, slams shut. The sound of his feet on gravel as he moves to open my door for me and help me out of the car. When I stumble, high heels faltering on the uneven gravel surface, his hands move to my shoulders to steady me. "Easy, I've got you."

"This is starting to feel like one of those movies," I intone, taking a cautious step forward with him. "You know. Girl goes out for a cup of coffee with a nice guy, who turns out to be a murderer?" Peeta chuckles but keeps helping me forward. "You're not denying it. Should I be worried?"

"No, I just have to—" His voice, rustling softly in my ear. I can't help the shiver that runs through me, unbidden. "Find the porch light. I didn't think it would be this dark."

He reaches into his pocket for his phone, taps the screen to illuminate a path for us.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of waving shadows. Hanging tresses, maybe. I blink, trying to make out the shadowy form against the jet black sky.

A weeping willow?

Everything snaps into place at once. I don't know why I didn't see this coming. I'm acutely aware of my mouth going dry, my stomach churning, but Peeta doesn't seem to notice. We keep shuffling forward, me on shaking legs, until we've reached a smooth concrete path and the brick edge of a building. He reaches up, fingers fumbling until the porch light flips on, and everything is drenched in golden light.

I'm twelve years old again, approaching the front door with a knot in my stomach. But instead of finding a pair of blue eyes waiting for me behind the door, they're trained on me now as I stare at the sign hanging above it.

Mellark Bakery.

I will have to acknowledge the bread, after all.

A/N: I lost touch with this story until a few days ago. I promise that there is more to come! Follow me on Tumblr (thehungagayums) for story updates and chapter previews, or leave a review! Thanks for being loyal readers, I really appreciate the continued support.