Author's notes: Thank you to everyone who's left reviews! I read them all and I'm so grateful. And papofglencoe, thank you so much for betaing this story. Thanks to you, it's better.

Trigger warning: Some mention of death.

The smell of something delicious invades my nostrils, pulling me from my morning slumber. I can tell it's late because the sun is lighting up the entire room, and I have to squint my eyes. Peeta's not in bed with me, but based on the smell, I can tell he's in the kitchen. I have no idea what he's making because I know that my kitchen is not well-stocked. He sometimes buys me groceries, not because I can't afford them myself, but because he thinks there's something sad about opening an empty fridge. I've told him he doesn't have to. I don't want to owe him, but he says it's for his sake and that he can't cook for me if he doesn't have anything to work with. Two compelling arguments. I love his food, both watching him make it and eating it, and I've managed to convince him that I should at least pay for half of it, to which he reluctantly agreed.

I throw off the covers, but when I move to stand I feel a soreness between my legs. It's a good kind of soreness, though, a reminder of how we spent last night together, not letting anything hold us back.

Peeta's shirt lies discarded on the floor, and I pick it up and pull it over me. I have a closet full of my own clothes, but I prefer his. Even if he hasn't worn it since we got back from the bar, it still smells like him. I love it. Not only because of the scent, but because it probably means he's not wearing much right now, pants at the most.

I'm right. When I get to the kitchen I rest my weight on the doorframe and admire how the muscles on his back flex when he moves. My eyes continue their journey downward, letting them linger on that sexy ass. I've never pegged myself as someone who would appreciates a man's rear this much, but Peeta has certainly turned me around. Watching him do something so mundane is enough to make my nipples poke through the thin fabric of the shirt. But as much as I want to feel him inside me again, I think I'm too sore.

He hasn't seen me yet because he's still standing with his back to me and he probably didn't hear me over the sizzling from the pan. He's humming something I don't recognize, and it's completely out of tune.

"Well, don't I have the best view in town?" Peeta whips his head around and locks his eyes on me. I don't miss how he not-so-subtly glances at my chest and then back to my face.

"I could say the same thing." I try not to blush at his compliment, but a heat still spreads across my face. He showered me with compliments last night, but that was in the midst of passion and, at that point, I was so consumed in pleasure that I didn't really think about what he'd been saying. Now, however, in broad daylight, it becomes real. I walk over to him and let him embrace me as I lean on his naked chest. "Good morning," he whispers, kissing my hair.

"It is." I pull back so I can see his face, and I can't resist the urge to stroke his hair back from his forehead. It's almost long enough to get in his eyes, but that's not why I'm doing it; I love his soft curls between my fingers, and I think Peeta likes it too because he closes his eyes and lets out a quiet moan. "What are you making?"

He slowly opens his eyes. "Blackberry pancakes. I would make you waffles, but you don't have a waffle iron," he responds. It sounds delicious, so I release him to let him continue.

"Yeah, I was supposed to get one last week, but you know, then I realized I don't cook," I wink as I walk to the table.

"Are you making fun of me?" he points at me with the spatula.

"What if I am... What are you going to do about it?" I try to give him a sexy look, but I don't know if I'm successful. I've never really wanted to seduce a man before, but Peeta's making me do all kinds of things I normally wouldn't.

He sighs. "You can't just walk in here, wearing my shirt and say stuff like that," Peeta groans. "It will have consequences."

"What kind of consequences?" I ask innocently, but I'm fully aware of what he's talking about; I can see it through his pants. "I'm sure it's nothing I can't handle," I smirk, glancing at his crotch. He gives me a smile and turns around to continue.

When Peeta's finished by the stove he brings a stack of pancakes to the table. They're heavenly, as is everything he makes, and after the first bite I'm reminded of how long it's been since I'd eaten, and I devour most of them pretty fast. Peeta sits across from me, seemingly content with watching me eat.

"You're not hungry?"

"Not really. I enjoy watching you eat," he smiles. We don't speak much during our - or my - meal. But it's not uncomfortable. Peeta has some way of always putting my mind at ease.

I feel a drip of jam on my chin and swipe it away with my thumb. "You know, if you spill on that shirt, I have nothing to wear on my way home," Peeta tells me.

"I don't mind," I respond quickly.

"You want me to take a cab or sit on the bus half-naked?" He raises his eyebrows.

I think about it for a second. The privilege of seeing Peeta without a shirt on should be mine, and mine alone. So I decide to do my best to make sure his shirt stays white, and I know exactly how to do it. I'm finished eating anyway. I'm hungry for something else. I get up to take his hand, dragging him toward the bathroom. I don't have to pull hard. When I close the door behind us I pull the shirt over my head and toss it to him, revealing my naked body.

"That's so fucking hot," he growls, closing the distance between us. His hands grab my hips, pulling me toward him, allowing me to feel his erection. I lock my hands behind his neck and pull him toward me to feel his lips on mine again. I can't believe there was a time when I thought a life without Peeta's touch was enough for me. Now, I've become addicted to it. He starts out slowly, nibbling my lower lip and letting his hands wander from my waist up my back and down again. When he grabs my ass, I moan into his mouth and our tongues meet.

"Take off your clothes," I demand as we part. While he takes his pants off I start the shower and get in. It doesn't take long for Peeta to join me and when he does, we continue our kiss. Without clothes in our way I let my hands travel along his arms, shoulders and down his back. He mirrors my actions, and his body is so warm that I barely notice the hot water cascading down on us.

I love the feeling of our naked chests pressed together, but I need to feel more of him. So I slide my hands down to his stomach and further downward. When I grab his cock, his breathing hitches and he moves one of his hands to my breast, squeezing it as I stroke him.

"I said I'd handle it, didn't I?" I say against his lips.

"That's not fair," he says, bringing his hand to the juncture of my thighs to start rubbing me. It feels so good that I don't know if I'll be able to stay standing. But when he moves his finger to my entrance and start pushing, there's a mix of pleasure and a little bit of pain. During our second round of sex last night, I was probably still riding on my high that I didn't feel it. I love the press of his fingers, but the soreness is too prominent to let myself completely enjoy it. I don't want Peeta to know, afraid that he'll worry he did something wrong.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, breaking the kiss. Fuck, why does he have to be so attentive?

"No, I'm just a little sore, that's all," I try to shrug it off.

"I'm sorry." He immediately retracts his hand and his face falls. This was exactly what I was afraid of. I've ruined the moment and he looks remorseful, like somehow he's to blame, when in reality, it's me.

"No. It's not your fault." I bring both of my hands to his face and cup his cheeks, giving him a kiss. "I just need to rest for a while."

"Of course," he whispers. I shouldn't have told him; I should've just sucked it up. Physical pain I can deal with, but seeing Peeta beat himself up because he thinks he hurt me is so much worse. So I start covering the side of his neck with open-mouthed kisses. My tongue travels across his throat along his shoulders and chest. If I can't convince him with my words, then I guess I'll have to show him.

I drop to my knees and start stroking him again. When I do, he looks down on me with an expression I can't quite read.

"You don't have..."

"Peeta, shut up," I say before licking the tip of his erection. At this, the corners of his mouth turn up into a smile. I return it, grabbing him at the base, and start to suck the head. Peeta buries his hand in my hair and puts the other on the wall, leaning against it.

"That feels..." he trails off. He doesn't need to finish the sentence; the way his cock twitches at the touch of my tongue tells me that he likes it. We've been together long enough to know what the other likes. So when I grab his hips and push him into my mouth a little farther, I'm not surprised at his reaction. He gasps when I take in as much of him as I can. I know how much he loves it, but he doesn't want to do it himself, afraid of hurting me and feeling like he's taking advantage of my vulnerable position. Resting on my knees like this is not that comfortable for me, but it's all worth it when I hear Peeta groaning in pleasure.

I let his hand set the pace when I start moving my head along his erection. He tastes so good I have to snake one of my hands between my legs to relieve some of my own tension. When I find that spot, I can't stop the moan that escapes my lips.

"Katniss," Peeta sighs and puts one of his hands on my shoulder, the other still in my hair. I release him from my mouth and look up to him, locking my eyes on his. I didn't think it was possible, but the way he looks at me with such desire makes me even wetter. "Come here," he says, putting both of his hands on my cheeks, gently pulling my head against his. I know that he enjoys finishing in my mouth, but he's also a big fan of kisses. On more than one occasion he's wanted to kiss me when he comes; I'm assuming this is one of those times so I grab his cock and continue to work him as I stand up to meet his lips, drinking from them. He surprises me by slipping one of his hands between my thighs, easily finding my clit. "I'll be gentle," he promises softly against my lips. All I can do is nod.

He rubs me with two of his fingers, making tight circles. His other hand travels from my face down my neck and stomach, lingering there. He puts his mouth to my ear. "Do you have any idea…?" He thrusts into my hand. "What you do to me?"

His words cause my knees to buckle, and I have to sling my free arm around him so I don't fall. "Tell me." He groans and moves his fingers a little faster, eliciting another moan from me.

"Your skin is so soft," he says, sliding his fingers up my arm. He reaches my face and drags them across my lips. "And it's as if these lips were made for me," he gives me a kiss as if to prove his point, and then palms one of my breasts. "And these. Oh, I love these," he whispers. "I get hard just thinking about how perfect they are."

"Peeta," is all I can muster before I crash my lips against his. We both speed up our motions with our hands and it doesn't take long before I feel that pressure starts to build. I rock my hips against his hand, and I try to stroke him with the same fervor that he's rubbing me.

"I'm so..." he pants in my ear. I pull my head back to look at him, because there are not many things that are sexier than Peeta's face right before he comes. But he's holding back, waiting for me to finish first.

"Peeta, let go." And he does. When he climaxes, he doesn't stop moving his fingers through my folds. Not even when he spills himself onto his stomach, grunting my name, does he stop working me.

"Katniss," he whispers after he stops trembling. He grabs one of my breasts again and start rolling my nipple between his fingers, mirroring the action of his hand on my clit. The only thing that could make this better is his lips on me again. It seems like Peeta has the same idea in mind because he plunges his tongue into my mouth.

Everything around us disappears. It's only me and Peeta. Exactly the way I want it. Exactly the way I want him. He shifts his hand slightly, and that's all it takes. An electrical jolt surges through me as I let myself enjoy his touch to the fullest. I start to shake, but Peeta keeps me standing until I've come back to reality.

"That was incredible." Understatement of the year, but it's the only words I can come up with right now.

"Yeah." Peeta gives me chaste kiss on the lips and warm smile. "It was."

After that, we take our time cleaning each other. He's very thorough, especially when lathering my breasts with soap, and my hands linger in his hair. After we're finished he throws a towel around his waist. As much as I love Peeta without clothes, there's something so fucking sexy with him wearing nothing but a towel, a few droplets of water trickling down his chest.

"Don't do that," he pulls me from my thoughts.

"What?"

"Look at me like that and bite your lip. I'm only human."

I didn't even realize I did that. "So am I," I smirk.

We put our clothes back on. I have to take my own this time because Peeta doesn't have anything else to wear, as he pointed out earlier, and he has to drop by the studio to take care of some bills.

"Doesn't Delly take care of that stuff?" I try to ask casually as he adjusts the collar of his shirt. He doesn't look up, locking his eyes on the floor.

"I don't expect her to come in today," he mumbles. "It's Saturday." I don't want to pressure him, and he probably doesn't even know himself what to do about her, so I drop the subject.

"So what do you want for your birthday?" I try to strike up another conversation.

"You don't have to give me anything," he says.

I don't believe that. "That wasn't my question."

He approaches me and captures my lips in a kiss. "I mean it. I really don't want anything. I'm not a huge fan of birthdays anyway." Another kiss. "Besides, I already have everything I want right here," he says sincerely.

"That's cheesy. Even for you, Peeta." But I know that he means it, so I stand on my toes and plant a kiss on his mouth and nose, resting my hands on his chest.

"I know," he smiles. "Doesn't make it any less true."

When we're at the door, he gives me a long kiss, his hands on the the side of my face and mine locked around his neck. It's slow but heated, and my tongue swirls around his as I pour every emotion I have into this kiss. I want to tell him how much he means to me, but I can't bring myself to say the words.

I observe him as he walks down the driveway, but he stops when he passes my car, inspecting it.

"I thought you were going to change the tires. It's not safe during the fall with all the rain. One sudden turn, and you'd glide right off the road." He's right. He told me. "I can do it if you want to," he offers.

"Thanks." If Peeta wants to change the tires of my car, I'm not going to stop him; it'll be a pleasure watching him work. But I'm curious. "How come you know so much about changing tires? You don't even have a car."

"Have being the key word in that sentence. I had a Land Cruiser, but I sold it."

"Why?"

"Don't need one. When you live in town you can pretty much walk anywhere."

Before I can respond I'm cut off by a familiar bark, and Sanders comes running, barging into Peeta.

"Hey, buddy," Peeta greets him, and they start playing. Not long after, Haymitch comes walking through his front yard.

"He was lying on the floor, perfectly happy, and then he heard something and went batshit crazy." When he spots Peeta playing with Sanders, he gives me a knowing smirk. Please, don't say anything inappropriate.

Peeta and Haymitch have heard about each other but haven't met yet. I haven't been keeping them from one another per se; the moment just hadn't presented itself. I guess there's no time like now because Peeta stretches out his hand, introducing himself. Haymitch actually manages to keep up a nice facade during the entire conversation, which to be honest, Peeta mostly carries. The short exchange is surprisingly casual, but right before Peeta leaves, Haymitch had apparently met his quota of social normalcy for the day.

"Nice meeting you, lover boy," he yells after Peeta. I just glare at Haymitch while Sanders walks inside, and I close the door without a word.

My anger is soon forgotten when I spot my keys lying on the floor just inside the door. I must have dropped them last night when Peeta and I came back from the bar. I was too drunk on him to care where my keys, or anything else for that matter, landed. I smile at the memory when I put them in the basket where they belong.

My bedroom is a mess too. The sheets are crumpled, and some of my clothes are still scattered around the floor. Even the drawer on the nightstand is still open. But when I'm about to close it, I notice Prim's necklace in there. I haven't worn it since that night I met Peeta; I've avoided wearing it because I'm afraid he's going to ask about it. Seeing it now, however, only serves as a reminder that there's a part of me that Peeta doesn't know.

I've been pushing him to tell me about his past when I've practically told him nothing about mine. I'm such a hypocrite. The realization makes me restless, and I can't stay here.

"Sanders, you wanna go see Peeta again?" He reacts to Peeta's name like he usually does, tilting his head to the side and wagging his tail.

It's not until I'm outside Peeta's door that I remember he's not here. But I know where he keeps a spare key, and I let myself in. The place feels quiet and cold without him. I've always liked it here, but apparently the appeal is Peeta and not the apartment itself. I'm not aware of how tired I am before I lean back on the couch, and my eyelids start to droop.

"Katniss?"

Something touches my arm, and my eyes snap open. I'm met with Peeta's concerned look.

"What are you doing here?"

Instead of answering I sit up and rub one of my eyes. "What time is it?" I didn't plan on falling asleep.

"Just after three. How long have you been here?" He looks worried. I don't blame him; he didn't know I was coming, and he found me sleeping on his couch.

I clear my throat. "Fuck, an hour, maybe?"

Peeta sits down and pulls me to him, holding me close. "If I'd known you'd be coming over I would have been home sooner."

"I'm sorry, I didn't plan on coming here. I mean… I wasn't planning on coming here today. Right now." I'm not making any sense. Might as well cut to the chase. I pull out the business card with the dandelion he gave me. He looks at it, then at me, confusion still written on his face.

"You're giving it back?" he asks in disbelief.

"What? No… I want it." I clutch it against my chest like someone is going to take it from me.

"Then why…?"

"Why did you draw this, Peeta?" I interrupt him.

"I told you. The necklace you wore seemed special to you. You were holding it in your hand most of the time," he says tentatively.

"It is special." Here it goes. "Do you know why?"

"No."

I show him the necklace. "It was my little sister's."

"It was?" He takes it carefully in his hands, taking a good look at it.

"Yes. Prim was four years younger than me. She died when when I was nineteen." I already told him about her briefly, but he has no idea about the circumstances of her death.

He gives me the necklace back, locking my fingers around it and gently enclosing my clasped hands in his. "I'm sorry. I know it sounds cliche, but I truly am." I believe him; Peeta always means what he says.

I guess I have to start from the beginning. "About a year before that, my father passed away." Peeta simply looks at me, silently urging me to continue. "It was very sudden. He had been complaining of nausea the day before, but neither of us thought more of it. He died in his sleep before the next morning. Meningitis." I'm surprised at how my eyes starts to prickle and how much sorrow comes back when I talk about my father. I thought it was only Prim's death that haunted me, but I guess I never had the time to completely grieve him.

Peeta holds my hands a little more firmly, but he doesn't interrupt, letting me continue at my pace.

"After that, my mom started working a lot more to support us. Without Dad, we lost our primary source of income. We moved to a smaller house but we still lived paycheck to paycheck, even though I chipped in as much I could, working at different temporary jobs."

"I had no idea." Peeta slides his fingers through my hair, soothing me.

"I know. That's why I'm telling you now." I inhale, letting the air fill my lungs and hoping it will also fill me with the courage to continue. "Prim and I started to drift apart. I worked a lot, and she spent less time at home; I even caught her drinking a few times. I assumed it was because we were both grieving our father, so I didn't make a big deal out of it." Tears are now streaming down my cheeks, and Peeta wipes some of them away with his thumbs.

"Katniss, you don't have to tell me all of this now. It's killing me to see you this upset," he pleads.

"Peeta, please. I have to do this now. I don't know if I'll be able to otherwise." He brings me even closer to him so that I can rest my head on his chest. His shirt is getting all wet from my tears, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Okay. Whatever you want." Talking about Prim usually feels like balancing on the ledge of a dark, steep well. With heels. In the dark. But with Peeta, there is light. He is the light. Holding my hand, he pulls me back to safety, and I'm back on solid ground.

"About a year after Dad died, I found her in her room one morning. There was a half-empty alcohol bottle on the floor and pills everywhere. She was gone long before I even picked up the phone to call 911," I sob.

Peeta brings his hands to my cheek and hugs me tighter. We sit like that for a couple of minutes, with me sobbing against his shirt as he holds me, slowly rocking me back and forth. In addition to always knowing what to say, Peeta also knows when it's best to not say anything at all. The warmth of his embrace is what I need right now, and his steadiness helps me to continue.

"We never found out if it was..." I can't bring myself to say the word because that would make it too real. Suicide. "The doctors only told us that it was a combination of alcohol and antidepressants. They couldn't tell if it was intentional or not." I try to keep it as clinical as I can. I can't start talking about my feelings. How the guilt of not being able to care for my closest kin sometimes feels like it's going to consume me.

"What do you think?" Peeta asks carefully. I'm taken aback by his question. No one has ever asked me. Everyone has always tried to convince me that Prim would never do anything like that. Like they knew her better than me. Maybe they did, because I have no idea how she managed to get a hold of both alcohol and prescription drugs.

"I don't know," I answer truthfully.

I want to tell him more. About how my mother blamed me for not being more attentive toward Prim's behaviour and that I should have picked up on it sooner. I thought I would be able to tell him everything today, but I'm too emotionally drained to continue. But there's something he needs to know. "Do you remember your painting at the art show? The one we talked about?"

"Yeah," Peeta answers in an exhale. "I remember."

"Her eyes were blue too. That was why I was acting so weird. All the memories of her, both good and bad, came back to me when I saw that painting." Peeta swallows, and I raise my head to look at him. I thought I would see pity, but I don't. It's… pain? Sorrow? Both?

I instinctively straddle his lap and hug him, not knowing if it's for my benefit or his. He envelops me in his arms. "I'm sorry for what you've had to go through," he croaks.

"Thank you," I breathe, and it's the first time I've meant it. His hands slide down my spine, and he moves to get up. "Where are you going?"

"I'm just going to get a blanket. You're shivering." I didn't even realize I was cold. Peeta soon comes back and we lie on the couch, with him hugging me from behind, and I feel my eyelids starting to feel heavy again.

"You want to know something?" he whispers in my ear. His breath against my skin still makes goosebumps break out all over my body.

"Yes," I answer him, hoping he'll be able to distract me.

"After you left, I was afraid I'd been too forward with that drawing. Like I was prying into your personal life. So when you sent me that text the next day, I thought you were mad at me."

He couldn't be further from the truth. "I wasn't."

"I'm really glad you texted me, though," he says quietly, kissing the the skin beneath my ear.

"Me too."

I'm cold when I wake up. It's dark out, so I must have slept more than I thought I needed. There's some light coming from Peeta's studio, so I get up from the couch, wrapping the blanket around me.

He's sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, and Sanders is sleeping next to him. On the opposite side of the room is the painting we talked about. He's leaning his elbow on his bent knee with his hand buried in his hair, staring at the painting. He hasn't noticed me yet.

"Peeta?" I say, lightly threading my fingers through his hair.

He looks up to me, rubbing his eyes. They're red-streaked, and I sit next to him, putting my head on his shoulder. He rests his head gently on mine.

His voice is quiet but tense. "I think it's time I tell you the truth about that painting."

Author's notes: Next chapter, I promise! If you're enjoying this story, please leave a review or look me up on tumblr. I'm maxwellandlovelace. Thank you for reading!