I have no idea what he's thinking. My eyebrows furrow as I try to scrutinize his expression, but I've got nothing.

His face is completely blank.

I set my guitar down next to my feet, and lean forward, cupping his face in my calloused hands. "Look, I understand that it's a lot to process, and it probably came out of nowhere for you. So I'm giving you an out—you don't have to respond right now. Just think about it, and tell me what you're thinking in the next day or two. I'll wait for you."

I drop my hands and stand up. "I'm going to The Hob with Finnick, okay? I'll be home in a few hours."

I glance at Peeta over my shoulder one more time before I close the door and see that he hasn't moved. Not one inch. That can't be good.

By the time I get to The Hob I've basically bitten off my nails entirely. Did I just make a mistake? His face was completely dead. He's probably thinking of the best way to let me down; my stomach churns violently at the thought.

I practically sprint into the bar, where I see Finnick sitting. I grab the drink he has in his hand, halfway to his mouth, and chug it. Yuck. I hate vodka.

"I was drinking that," he says, glancing at his empty glass as I set it on bar.

"But I needed it more." I plop myself down onto the barstool next to him and wave at the bartender impatiently.

Finnick smiles at me, his straight teeth looking menacing. "Are you gonna tell me? Come on, Katniss, I want to hear how it went! That was my part of the deal after I helped you finish the song: be here for drunken support."

I shake my head. "Are you sure you wanna hear about it?" I ask hesitantly. I mean, it wasn't long ago he told me that he had feelings for me and I rebuffed him. Does he really want details about how I told someone else I loved them?

Now it's his turn to shake his head. "No, I do. You're my friend, no matter what, and I want to hear what happened."

The bartender finally comes up to me and I order four shots of tequila. Not to share. Then I turn my body towards Finnick. "I sang him the song."

His eyes glitter with anticipation. "And?" he prods.

"I'm letting him get adjusted the idea," I say as the shots are placed in front of me; I quickly toss them all back before continuing. "I kind of sprung it on him, and I don't want him to feel pressured to respond—good or bad. We've been friends for so long…"

Finnick nods understandingly, then a loudly chuckle escapes his throat. Then another. Then he's laughing uncontrollably, covering his mouth with his large hands to quiet himself.

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Are you high?"

He shakes his head, his laughter dying down. "I'm sorry," he says when he finally stops. "I just—of course that's how you did it, Katniss. You tell him you love him and then you sprint out the door so fast—you realize you don't have a coat, right? And it's snowing outside?"

I look down at myself and find out that it's true. I'm still wearing the ratty t-shirt I fell asleep in last night.

Finnick, being the good friend that he is, begins to distract me from the potential doom that could be stirring in the most successful and basically only friendship I've ever had. He talks about easy, nonconsequential topics, and continues to try to get me to laugh, and before I know it, three hours have passed. And I'm actually starting to feel better. Until I see him.

Peeta stands in the doorway, his hands on his hips, his eyes scanning the bar. He's here. My heartbeat flies at the sight of him in his flannel plaid shirt and his deep blue jeans. He's here. Finally, his eyes land on me at the bar and he quickly makes a b-line in my direction. He's here.

"What are you doing here, Katniss?" he growls. "You can't just leave in the middle of a pretty serious conversation."

Suddenly, unexplainably, I'm angry. "Don't tell me what to do."

"We're going home," he says, his voice in control, but seething. But why? Why the hell is he angry? Out of all the emotions he could feel after I tell him I love him, he's angry? That doesn't even make any sense.

"I'm going to the bathroom," I tell him, leaving him behind. But he doesn't stay.

Peeta follows me.

I turn around, glaring at him. "Peeta, you realize this is a girl's bathroom right?" I sneer at him. "Or did you miss the triangle shaped person on the door?" But he just locks the door behind him and turns, ignoring me.

"Don't have sex with him," he snarls, running his left hand through his gorgeous curls, his blue eyes penetrating mine.

Shock freezes my body. "What?"

His eyes narrow. "You heard me. Don't sleep with Finnick."

Anger rips through me, and I stomp towards him; when his face is a few inches away from mine, I start yelling. "Are you fucking kidding me?! After everything I just told you, you think I'm going to screw him?" Steam is practically coming out of my ears. "You know what? Maybe I should. You're not my brother or my father and you are definitely not my boyfriend."

"Don't. Fuck. Him." He enunciates every word, his jaw clenched and looking utterly delectable.

"Don't. Tell. Me. What. To. Do," I sneer back.

Suddenly, he grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me against the wall. I open my mouth, ready to scream at him, when he swoops down and kisses me. Hard. His lips smash against mine, unrelenting, and I immediately respond, grabbing his face and holding it to mine. I've been dreaming of this kiss ever since the night we shared; not a consoling kiss, like we had the night of our fight, but a knee-weakening kiss that makes me see stars and question every other kiss I've ever had in my entire life. Now I finally have it. And I don't ever want it to end. His tongue dives into my mouth, somersaulting with mine, and oblivion is upon me once again.

All too soon, he rips his lips off mine. "He's not good enough for you, Katniss. When will you realize that all these fucking guys aren't good enough?" His voice is calm, like he didn't just kiss me, sober, and change the dynamic of our entire relationship. My hands fall to my sides, as shock ruptures my body. What just happened? What is he saying exactly? Does he want to be with me too?

His hands leave my shoulders, running, lingering down my body as they move to my thighs, where he starts to unzip my jeans slowly.

"Then who is?" I pant, my breath gone. I can't seem to move my limbs. What the hell is he doing?

He smiles at me and tugs at my jeans until they hit the floor; I hear the sound of his zipper lowering. He picks me up one-handed and I kick my jeans off before I wrap my legs around him—my body moving on its own accord. Before I even register what we're doing, he pushes my underwear aside and thrusts his flesh into me. I gasp at the sensation of being filled by him again; it makes me feel so complete.

But he doesn't move. He holds me against the wall—completely still. His blue eyes bleed into mine as his mouth falls open and a soft moan escapes.

"What are you doing?" I pant, mind-willing him to pound into me, again and again until I'm shouting his name. I don't even care that we're in a bar bathroom.

"Don't sleep with him, Katniss."

I roll my eyes, ignoring the beating of my heart in my ears. "What the fuck are you going on about? I'm not going to sleep with Finnick. And, that's physically impossible right now, considering you're inside me." He narrows his eyes, so I narrow mine too. "Why do you even care?"

He moves out of me slowly, almost entirely, then sharply thrusts into me; I moan. God, he feels good. I'm aching and trembling to be with him again.

His blue eyes are so close to mine, and he's looking at me that way. The way he looked at me all those months ago during our first time: like I'm the most beautiful person in the world. "Why do I care? Why do you think?"

"I don't know," I mumble. He agreed when I said we should just stay friends. Was he lying too?

He brings the hand not holding me up and rests it on my face, his thumb running along my lower lip. "I want you, Katniss. Every single second of the day. Can't you tell?"

My breath hitches. Well, fuck no I couldn't tell. He hasn't changed the way he's treated me since we sleep together—how was I supposed to know?

I can't seem to give in right away like I want to. To gush and fall and tell him I'll never leave him. "I don't want to be just a hole for you to fill while you get over Madge," I whisper, sadness infiltrating my being.

We both can't deny that the sex was fantastic all those months ago. But he had just been dumped by the girl he was in love with and I…don't want to be the rebound. I'm in love with him, and I want him to want me for more than just a good lay. I want this to be real for him.

His face morphs into sadness, breaking before my eyes. "You should know I don't see you like that—I could never see you like that. You're my best friend." He leans forward and presses his forehead against mine. "Katniss, I've felt more than friendship for you for as long as I can remember. Why do you think I kissed you in the first place that night that lead to the sex? Katniss, I'm in lo—"

I clamp my hand over his mouth, not ready to hear the words yet. Later. I want to hear them later when I know he's not just saying it to get some in a bathroom. "Don't say it. Not yet. Just show me."

He presses his lips to mine, gently, lovingly, and begins to move. And I fall even harder for him. Flush immediately takes over my body, and I arch my back, biting my lip. Oh god, it feels so good to be with him again. He moves his face to my neck, sucking and licking at my olive skin as his hips collide with mine, over and over and over. I moan quietly at the sensation as I dig my heels into his delicious backside, desperate to have him inside me as deep as possible.

"I've been waiting for this for so long," he moans into the crook of my head. His hand moves from my hip and slips up my shirt until he reaches my bra. His fingers begin to tease my nipple through the sheer fabric, and I wiggle against him as the pressure goes straight to my groin and I squeeze him inside of me; he groans in response, vibrating my entire being.

I move my hands from his hair to his shoulders to his chest. I need to feel his warm skin. I frantically pop open the buttons of his shirt, eager to touch him. After what feels like centuries, it falls open and I run my hands up and down the chiseled muscles; my nails pinch into the skin of his pecs. He moves his face from my neck and I instantly attack his mouth with my tongue. I want to taste every inch of it.

Suddenly, the door starts to shutter next to us, and Peeta stops mid-thrust. "Hurry up in there!" a high-pitched voice squeals from the other side. Fuck. We're in a bathroom. Peeta pulls himself out of me, sets me back on my feet and quickly zips up his jeans as he runs to the middle of the bathroom to snatch my jeans off the dirty, green tiled floor; he tosses them to me and I quickly climb into them.

When I'm finished buttoning up my pants, I look up to see Peeta finish fastening the top button of his flannel. "We need to get home and talk," he says, his face beet-red from embarrassment. But there's a happy smile on his face and I know I'm wearing the same one.

I nod, still smiling, and the two of us duck out of the bathroom, ignoring the shocked gasps and pointed looks from the prissy bimbo waiting outside the door.

Peeta's arm wraps around my waist, fitting there like a glove, and I give Finnick a small wave as we hurry out of the exit. He grins manically as his arms shoot up in the air in victory, as if signaling a touchdown.

Peeta speeds home, his hand in mine, and practically drags me up the front steps and through the unlocked door. As soon as he wheels around in the living room, I attack him, my lips eager to meet his again. He kisses me back with equal gusto, but pulls away soon after.

"When I said we needed to talk, I really did mean talk," he pants, his hot breath skimming my face.

I nod, agreeing, though I'd rather get lost in the sheets with him. He intertwines his fingers with mine and brings them to his mouth. Slowly and delicately, he presses his lips to each one of my fingers, his eyes glittering at me. Then he pulls me over to the couch and we take a seat on opposite ends.

We sit in silence for several moments before he breaks it with one simple word, "When?"

I cringe, wishing he would have asked a different question. "I don't know," I tell him truthfully.

"How could you not know?" he asks, confusion filling his beautiful face.

"I don't know when I fell in love with you, Peeta," I say, collapsing back onto the arm of the couch. "I probably always have." I pick at the cushion, avoiding his eyes.

"When did you realize it, Kitty?"

I close my eyes, trying to ignore the desperation in his tone. "After we slept together," I finally whisper.

After what seems like a thousand years, I feel the soft pads of his fingers on my cheek. "Look at me Katniss," he whispers. But I bite my lip, shaking my head. "Please."

And I break, my eyes opening automatically at his consoling voice. "Why didn't you say anything?" he asks, his eyes staring into mine, full of wonder and bewilderment.

"Why didn't you?!" I almost shout back. "If you've had feelings for me all this time, why didn't you ever say anything?"

He pulls back slightly, and his gaze falls down to my lips. He moves in to kiss me, but this time I pull away. Now I want answers.

He sits back down on the couch, and pulls my folded legs out so they stretch across his lap. "I've wanted to tell you how I've felt every day for last five years." He runs his right hand up and down my calf, as his eyes fall to my face. "Once I even had it all planned out."

I start, surprise taking over. "When?"

His eyes fill with sadness, and I feel the need to grab his face and pull him on top of me. But I don't. He sighs, and intertwines his fingers with mine again before he answers, "The night you met Gale."


I hold a bottle of tequila in one hand and compare it to the bottle of whiskey I have in the other. Peeta sent me out on this errand to get some alcohol while he finished making dinner, but he never said what kind. Does he want to get drunk? I don't know. He was a little weird when I left his apartment to do this—all twitchy and red-faced. Maybe he's having an allergic reaction again. I told him his doctor wasn't kidding about the almonds, but he loves them too much and refuses to stop putting almond powder in his bread.

I decide on a sauvignon blanc and a small bottle of absinthe—just in case. I exit the cluttered aisle and head to the counter, my goods in one hand and my wallet in the other. The guy looks up and away from his crossword; his beady mud-colored eyes rake over my body and I have to fight the urge to slap him across the face.

He rings me up, barely paying attention to what he's doing, but instead staring at my chest. Fuck. Well that's what I get for wearing a shirt that shows a silver of cleavage—which I normally don't. My fists clench at my side, ready to swing.

"Hey, Dickhead, could you be less obvious?" a deep male voice calls behind me, causing me to turn around. But the man doesn't acknowledge me—he continues to stare daggers at the employee. "Turn your eyes back to the register and do your fucking job."

The cashier cowers and moves his eyes back to the task, taking the bill I hand to him and placing it in the drawer. After the clerk bags the alcohol and slides it across the counter to me, the man who unnecessarily saved me finally looks at me.

His grey eyes meet mine and I feel my heart beat faster in my chest. His messy brown hair sticks out all over his head, making him look like a guy that just rolled out of bed. No. Not a guy—a model. He looks like a scruffy model that just rolled out of bed—with broad shoulders, a gorgeously crooked smirk and a straight nose.

"I could have handled that by myself," I tell him, ignoring the nagging feeling that I should thank him—and the desire to attack his soft-looking, scarlet lips with my own. But I'm not a damsel. I don't need a random knight to save me.

The stranger's smile fades slightly and he throws a ten dollar bill on the counter; he grabs his six pack the clerk just rang up, not bothering to wait for the scumbag to catch up. He takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes, an action so very similar to what I've done my entire life.

"Yeah, I don't care," he exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose with his large hand. And then he moves past me, pushes open the metal door and exits the building.

And I'm left reeling. What the hell was that exactly? I quickly dart after him, a slur of curse words on the tip of my tongue.

"Hey!" I scream as I watch him sling his right leg over a slightly beat-up red crotch rocket. "What the fuck are you doing?"

The stranger exhales and crosses his arms over his chest, causing his green shirt to stretch tighter over his abs, revealing the toned muscles underneath. "I'm leaving, obviously." I glare at him, and he exhales again before continuing, "Look, the guy was a pig and I called him on it. Plus, it looked like you were about the slug him and I wanted to save you a trip to jail."

"Why?" I ask, my annoyance at this guy increasing more and more by the second. "You don't even fucking know me."

His eyes flame suddenly. "So what? He's a prick and I'm gonna apologize to you or anyone else," he shouts.

"Wow, you're an asshole," I comment, startled by the nerve of this guy. What a weirdo.

"And you're a self-righteous bitch."

I flash him my middle finger and turn around, marching off in the opposite direction—away from him and towards Peeta's place. I hear the sound of his motorcycle rumbling to life, but it only make me walk faster. What a douchebag! He…well, he helped me out, but he was very douche-y afterwards!

"Can I give you a ride?" The guy is suddenly beside me, only a few feet from where I am on the sidewalk, his bike chugging slowly.

"Fuck no," I sneer at him, picking up my pace. But he doesn't drive off.

"I'm gonna see you home then," he says, his tone just as cold as mine. God, why won't this fucker leave me alone?

So that's what he does. He rides along side me, not saying a word, the three blocks to Peeta's apartment. When I finally stop in front of the blue wooden building, I turn to him, ready to shout again, when he holds up his hand to silence me.

"Can I call you?" he asks, turning off his engine.

I huff out a shocked breath and tug at the end of my braid. "Seriously?" I ask, incredulous. "You call me a bitch and then you want to get my phone number? You don't even know my name."

He shrugs his shoulders like he's never had a care in the world. "I guess I just like your fire."

I bite my lip, suppressing a nod. Despite the weird, dick-like things he's done in the span of the five minutes I've known him, I kinda like him. He's….different.

Before I even tell him yes, he throws a pen in my direction. Fortunately, my hunter reflexes kick in and I'm able to catch it without looking like a fool. I walk towards him, closing the gap between us and write my number on the back of the hand he has wrapped around his clutch. Shaking my head, half-surprised and half-disgusted with myself, I step away from him after I finish; I place the pen into his other hand.

But before I step away entirely, his hand darts out to grab me. And suddenly, his lips are on mine. They soft and warm, just like I thought they would be, but the kiss is hard and rough; without thinking, I eagerly return his kiss. I don't know how long it lasts, time seems to melt away, but what feels like too soon, I pull away.

"I'm Gale, by the way," he says, licking his lips.

"Katniss."

He smirks crookedly, and then starts up his engine and takes off without another word. Dazed, I walk up the stairs until I get to the third floor and Peeta's front door. I knock once before I open it, knowing it's unlocked for me.

Peeta sits at his small kitchen table, lit with two large candles. He stands up as I enter, a nervous smile on his lips. He's changed since I left; he now wears a dark blue button up I've never seen before and a pair of black jeans.

"You look nice," I tell him.

He nods at me, not noticing that my body is still humming with energy. He moves across the room in a few steps and wraps his arms around me, startling me; his left hand rests on the back of my neck, his fingers caressing my hairline. Huh. He's never done that before. And the actions feels…intimate.

When we pull away, I look up at him, still in his arms. He smiles at me and opens his mouth to speak. "Katniss, I—"

"I met someone," I cut him off, butterflies taking over. "I'm sorry for cutting you off, but it just was so weird, that I had to tell you about it."

Peeta unwinds himself from me, but doesn't look away. He flops down into the chair he was previously occupying. "When?" he asks, his voice no longer happy, but worrisome. I frown. Maybe I shouldn't have stopped whatever he had to say.

"Like ten minutes ago, at the liquor store." I smile, remembering the way Gale's lips melded with mine. "He's kind of a jerk, but in a good way."

Peeta laughs, harsh and unamused. "Of course he is," he mumbles so quietly I almost don't hear him.

"What does that mean?" I inquire, heat in my tone. I don't like what he seems to be insinuating.

He stands up again and begins to gather the uneaten food from the table. "Nothing, Kat," he says, his voice devoid of emotion. He looks at me again, his face blank. "It's just—he would be."

And then he leaves the room, heading into the kitchen and forgetting the special dinner he made for the two of us.


"Peeta," I whisper and pull his face down to mine. This conversation is officially over for now. I just need him.

His lips meet mine and I feel whole. The fingers of his right hand run along my jaw as my hands weave into his messy mop. We kiss for what feels like hours, but I know in reality it must only be about five minutes.

"Let's go to bed," he whispers when he finally breaks away. And a smirk creeps up my face.

"Now you're talking," I moan, and turn my head to attack his neck.

He chuckles and pulls away, smiling at me. "No, I mean literally sleep." My eyebrows furrow and I fall back down to the couch rebuffed. He continues, "We need to talk more about everything before…that happens."

"You didn't feel that way in the bathroom," I point out, my hands dragging down the sides of his neck; he shivers in response.

"I know, but I shouldn't have done that. I got caught up in the moment."

He leans down and presses another kiss to my lips before he climbs off the couch, pulling me up with him. Hand in hand, we walk to my bedroom and slip inside. We throw off our clothes until I'm just in my ratty t-shirt and underwear and he's in his black boxers. Then we slip into bed and immediately cling to each other.

His arms slide under my t-shirt and rest on my warm skin as he presses his lips to my forehead in an intimate, lingering kissing.

"We'll talk more tomorrow," Peeta says, but I don't respond.

I've already slipped into a peaceful sleep next to the man I love.


Hey all! Hope that was everything you imagined it to be! There is still a lot of stuff they need to discuss and you will get that in the next few chapters, with a little bit of sexy stuff because I know how much you all love that! ;) Also, there will be more explanation of Peeta's reactionI mean, the guy is pretty insecure when it comes to Katniss's feelings for him. And he has every right to be. Thank you all for your support!