Disclaimer: This fanfic is rated 'M' for language and sexual content. I do not own any of the characters of The Hunger Games.

Chapter 21: Take it Easy

I drift in and out of consciousness, the heavy fog that's settled over my mind never quite fading away completely. At times I'm unsure if this is real. Maybe it's all just a bad dream that I'm desperately trying to wake up from. If that's the case, I'm failing miserably.

Once in awhile, I catch a glimpse of light that flashes between my eyes, interrupting the black oblivion I'm lost in. At other times, it's like a kaleidoscope bursting open, releasing thousands of colors behind my eyelids. Everything seems so surreal though. Colors are too bright, too vivid, and shiny even.

There are voices too. Some I recognize, some I've never heard before. But no matter how hard I try to concentrate, their words are always too muffled and too distant for me to understand.

Then there are the smells. Most of the time they're pleasant. Like the familiar smell of home or the earthy scent of the woods behind my house or peculiarly enough, of freshly baked bread. Other times it reeks of a pungent odor I can't quite place, as though someone has doused the entire room in bleach. It burns my nostrils and I just want someone to open a window, but my eyelids are too heavy and the muscles of my jaw won't respond.

At one point, as I hover between consciousness and sleep, the fuzziness miraculously lifts. I can just make out two distinctly male voices having a tense conversation; one is easily recognizable as being my father but the other seems vaguely familiar.

"What the hell happened out there?" My father's voice is raspy with a harsh edge to it. I've only ever overheard him swear a handful of times, never before in Prim's or my presence.

"Like I said, Jake, I'm looking into it." The second man's voice is slightly slurred, as though he's hung over or hasn't had a decent nights rest in days.

"You better be, Haymitch. You see that? That's my little girl lying there unconscious in that bed."

Haymitch? Haymitch! How did I not recognize him? What is he doing here? Where is here? Where the fuck am I?

I try to remember what happened and how I got here, wherever here is, but I've hit a mental roadblock. I try to call out to them, to tell them that I'm here and that I'm awake. But none of my muscles want to cooperate, no matter how hard I will them to. Not even my arms or legs twitch when I strain to move them.

"I know," Haymitch whispers, his tone noticeably softer than before. "Like I said, I've been going through the reports, or lack there of, and I might be on to something. But I'm not sure. So before you get all excited and try taking this to upper management all by yourself, just take a moment and take a step back, alright? We need all our geese in a row before we do this."

"Ducks."

"Huh?"

"Ducks. We need all our ducks in a row."

"Ducks, geese, who gives a shit. Seriously though, Jake, whenever she wakes up, you give me a call. I need to talk to her."

There's a long pause before I hear the sound of feet shuffling away from me, followed by the squeak of an opening door.

"Did you talk to that other kid? The one who was with her?" The edge to my father's voice is no longer present and I can sense the desperation in his tone. It pains me to hear him like this, he's usually so strong, the one who holds it together when the rest of us can't. I try to reach out to him again, to let him know I'm alright.

"Yeah, I talked to him. He's still a little shaken up but he said it…"

The clarity of Haymitch's voice falters and slowly turns fuzzy, as though I'm suddenly listening to their conversation over the loud static of a television while wearing a pair of earmuffs. Before I know it, the fuzziness quickly fades to a low, muffled buzz and I can no longer decipher his words. My body feels woozy again and it's as though someone's covering me up with an invisible blanket that steals away all of the sound and light from the room.

No! I need to stay awake!

But it's no use.

I'm not sure how much time passes before the fog lifts and my hearing is restored again. I'm suddenly hyper aware of my surroundings. It's a little unnerving really, not having a full set of senses to rely on, in my case only my hearing, sense of smell, and touch. The comforting bread scent is back again but it mingles with that of the woods which means my father is still present.

"You need to get some sleep." My father sounds tired; perhaps he should take his own advice.

"No, it's OK, I'm fine."

A sense of familiarity tweaks at my memory. I know that voice. The smooth, tenor tone sends shivers down my spine and a bolt of electricity shoots through me to my toes and fingertips. My body recognizes him before my mind does.

Peeta!

Adrenaline rushes through me and I try with all my might to move my limbs, to reach out to him. Peeta yawns and I hear what I assume are his footsteps to the right of me. Someone takes my hand and rubs small circles into my palm soothingly, the slightly calloused fingertips causing my skin to burn with each pass.

"You sure? You haven't slept since she got here." I can tell by my fathers tone that he's frowning. "Listen, she's not going anywhere and neither am I, a few hours of rest will do you some good. Go home, get some food in you, and take a nap. I'll call you if she makes any improvements."

"You're probably right." Peeta pauses and yawns again. "Here's my number, please don't hesitate to call me, no matter what time it is, when she wakes up."

It's not lost on me, his choice of words. "When" she wakes up, not "if". Peeta, always the optimist.

"You have my word, son."

"Thank you, Mr. Everdeen."

My father laughs lightly. "Like I said, just call me Jake. 'Mr. Everdeen' makes me sound old."

Peeta chuckles as he releases my hand and my heart pounds in my chest with each footstep as he moves away from me. I don't want him to leave, but my father's probably right. Who knows how long I've been like this. Hours? Days? Hell, weeks for all I know. And who knows how long I'll stay like this? My spine tingles at the thought and I try to focus on what I can hear around me to prevent my mind from going into a depressing spiral of uncertainty.

The room is eerily quiet though, expect for the monotonous hum coming from the AC register which must be located above me. I'm freezing but there's obviously nothing I can do about it.

My father sighs deeply before he takes my hand and squeezes it gently. It's warm and comforting, like Peeta's. I can only imagine what an emotional wreck he is right now.

"Wake up, sweetie, please?" His voice is tense and strained. "Come back to me."

I try to squeeze his hand back but nothing's changed, it's no use. The familiar heaviness soon returns, but this time I don't even try to fight it. There's no use. I'm tired of fighting it.

The third time I awake, my eyes are heavy but they no longer feel like they're glued shut. This time I'm somewhat hopeful when I test out the muscles of my lids. They open. My head spins for a slip-second as everything around me comes into focus and my eyes adjust to the dimness of the room around me. Where the hell am I? I'm acutely aware of something pressing into my arm when I try to stretch out my stiff limbs. It's an IV.

I'm in the hospital. Well of course, that explains the sterile smell of bleach.

I trace the various tubes that tether my body to the machines next to me, one that beeps away quietly while another looks to be monitoring my heart rate. It's probably a good idea to take things slow, no sudden movements that might bring on the dizziness I've been trying to fend off during the few conscious moments I've had.

My breathing evens out as I sit and stare at the line on the monitor as it moves in rhythm with my pulse, momentarily mesmerized by the glow of the screen. Feeling a little more like myself, I wiggle my toes just to make sure I'm not dreaming. Something heavy at the foot of the bed moves and pulls my attention away from the monitor.

It's my father.

He shifts again, but this time his head pops up, his eyes alert as he stares back at me and blinks. He jumps to his feet to round the bed and he's next to me within seconds. "Oh, hun," he sighs, "I'm so glad you're awake. How are you feeling? Are you in any pain? Can I get you anything?" He lifts his hand to my forehead as though he's checking my temperature, but I know he has no clue what he's doing. It's something he's seen my mother do no doubt when I was sick, just an overprotective reaction given my weak state. I manage a small chuckle but my voice doesn't sound like my own.

I blink a few more times before I assess the rest of my body. Everything appears to be in working order. Besides the slight ache behind my temples, I feel surprisingly normal.

"What happened?" My voice cracks and I swallow a few times to try and coat my throat. "Why am I in the hospital?

"Don't you remember?" His face takes on a worrisome look. "Something stung you. You were at the quarry, out in the woods and whatever it was that got you, it made you pass out." He takes my hand in his and I can feel it tremble slightly. "You had us all worried for a bit there."

I swallow again but it doesn't help. There's a glass of water on the table next to me that I try to reach for, but the damn IV gets in the way.

"Here, let me get that," my father insists.

I take a long, greedy gulp and drain the glass in a matter of seconds but it leaves my parched mouth unsatisfied.

"More?" he asks and I nod my head vigorously. He stands and quietly walks over to the mini fridge in the corner of the room and retrieves a bottle of water.

I squint and barely make out the outline of something hunched over against the back wall by the fridge. There's only one person with that kind of unruly blonde hair and I'm almost tempted to roll right off this hospital bed and crawl over to him. He looks uncomfortable, slumped over against the wall with a blanket tucked up around his shoulders, the movement of his shoulders as he breathes barely visible.

"He's been here ever since he found out you were admitted." I hesitantly break my gaze away from Peeta to watch my father as he takes a seat in the empty chair next to me.

"And how long ago was that?"

He sighs deeply as he cracks open the cap of the water bottle and drops a straw into it. "You've been out for almost two days."

Two days? I've been in and out of it for two whole days? How is that even possible?

I try once again to remember exactly what happened before I blacked out. I recall something pricking me, the stabbing pain that accompanied it like nothing I'd ever felt before. Whatever it was, it got me more than once.

I scan my arm and find a small raised red bump in my wrist and another on my forearm. There was one more. I lift my hand to my neck and sure enough, there's a small raised bump just above my collarbone. I recall the muffled sound of fluttering wings that I was too stupid and too slow to notice.

"Was it a wasp? I'm not even allergic to them, why did I pass out?"

"I don't know, sweetie, the doctors are looking into it."

I nod my head slowly. "Where's Mom? And Prim?"

"It's eleven o'clock at night. They're at home trying to get some rest. Which is more than I could get from this guy," he hooks his thumb over his shoulder towards Peeta. "You can thank your mother later for pulling some strings to allow him to stay past visiting hours. I promised that I'd wake him if…when you woke up."

As if on cue, Peeta lets out a loud sigh and slowly sits up. The blanket falls from his body and he stretches his arms over his head with a lazy yawn. I clear my throat to catch his attention and his eyes widen immediately.

"You're awake!" He jumps up from the bench and is at my other side before I can say anything. "How are you feeling? Does your head hurt? Can I get you anything?"

I chuckle lightly and shake my head. "I'm fine, my father beat you to it, thanks though."

"I'll, uh, give you two a moment then," my father says as he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "I should call your mother." He gets up but pauses in the doorway, "Oh, and Haymitch said he'd stop by too, he needs to talk to you about what happened. Although I don't think he'll admit it, I think you worried him as much as you did us. I don't think he's slept since the incident."

Once the door closes shut behind my father, Peeta doesn't waste any time. He leans down and catches my lips, cupping my face in both his hands. If it weren't for the constant reminder from the monotonous beeps of my heart rate monitor and the IV invading my arm, I'd forget where we were. A hospital isn't exactly the most romantic scenario for a reunion, but oh well, at least it's a private room.

Peeta shifts his weight and hovers over me as he tries to deepen our kiss, but his elbow catches my IV, causing it to bend uncomfortably against my skin.

"Ah," I squeak as I pull away quickly.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry!" He jumps to his feet and his face drops into a grimace.

"It's OK, don't worry. It's probably a good thing you did anyway, if you didn't I probably wouldn't have stopped." Now that he's close enough for me to study his face, I notice the dark circles under his eyes. I frown and reach up to trace the pad of my thumb under one of his eyes. "You look tired."

He takes my hand and kisses my palm. "I'm just glad to see you're awake."

Peeta sits back down carefully beside me as I recall all that I can remember about what happened. He fills in the gaps for me from the pieces he's picked up from my father and Haymitch, but his voice tenses noticeably when I ask about Gloss.

"He's alright, he came by last night to check on you. Those are from him." He points to a bouquet of flowers on a small table next to me that I hadn't noticed yet. There are a few other bouquets, a bunch of balloons, and even a fruit basket. The sight of the fruit actually makes my stomach do flips and my mouth salivates.

I'm not a flower person, anyone who really knows me knows that, but I can't overlook the sincerity behind the gesture. I'm sure Gloss meant well.

"Which one is yours?" I ask with a straight face, gesturing to the table with my chin.

For a split second, Peeta's eyes widen in shock as though I'm serious. "Nice try," he smirks as he sits up and pads over to the back of the room to retrieve a bag off the floor. There's a big grin plastered across his face as he pulls a box from the bag and sets it down next to me. "I had to smuggle these in past the nurse at the front, do know how hard that was?"

He opens the box and in that instant I understand why, the heavenly scent of freshly baked bread and melted cheese wafts up to fill my nostrils.

"You didn't!" I grab for the box and steal a cheese bun before he can offer one to me. I stuff it into my mouth and the gooey cheese warms my throat as I swallow large bites. I manage a grateful moan as I reach for a second one, almost forgetting that Peeta's still there, grinning as he watches me stuff my face. "You should have stuck these on a sticks and made me a cheese bun bouquet, then I'd love you even more than I already—" I stop short once I realize what I've just said.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Did I honestly just say that? I'm almost too nervous to steal a glace over at Peeta, but I do and notice him freeze for a moment before he takes another bun out of the box and closes the lid.

He clears his throat and I watch the muscles in his neck tense but quickly relax a second later. "Believe it or not, the thought actually crossed my mind. But if I'd known I'd get that kind of a reaction out of it, I would have." I let out a nervous laugh and quietly finish off the cheese bun in my hand.

A knock at the door startles us both and Peeta quickly straightens up and turns around. Haymitch pokes his head through the doorway. "Oh sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's fine," Peeta says, taking a step back. He gives me a quick smile and hands me the last cheese bun before he walks to the end of the hospital bed and pats my leg gently. "I'll, uh, let you guys talk. I'll just be outside."

"Thanks," Hatmich says, inhaling deeply. The room falls silent again as Haymitch continues to hover in the doorway, studying me cautiously.

"Are you going to sit down? You're making me nervous."

He pulls up a stool next to the bed and clears his throat. "So, how you feeling?"

"Fine, I guess. A little tired."

Haymitch nods his head and stares at his hands. "So, it looks like as soon as you get out of here, we've decided it's best you take at least a week or two to recover. Then once you're back in the office, I'm going to keep you out of the field for awhile until, uh, this whole thing kind of blows over."

"What? You're going to confine me to the office? What am I going to do all day?"

Haymitch frowns. "Now settle down, Sweetheart. We don't want you over exerting yourself so soon after waking up." He leans back in the chair and props his feet up on the side of my hospital bed. I cringe at the sight of the soles of his beat up work boots. Seriously?

"I'll get you to do data entry, mostly," he continues, "maybe help Boggs with some of the equipment. He's got some equipment calibrations to run through and the annual inventory that you could—"

"Great, sounds like real riveting work." I cross my arms over my chest in protest. "And what did you mean exactly by 'until this thing blows over'?"

Haytmich takes a moment to study his dirty nails and I know that whatever answer he gives me will be filtered, need-to-know basis I'm sure. "Well, it didn't take long for word to get out to upper management about what happened. Snow got wind of it only a few hours after you were admitted to the ER and well, he's not to happy about it."

"What's that supposed to mean? Not happy about it? It's not like I went out there asking for any of this to happen!" The quiet beeps coming from the machine that monitors my pulse start to increase, coinciding with my heartbeat that begins to race in my chest.

"Of course this wasn't your fault! No one's saying it is, Sweethear, but until things calm down, I'd rather you kept a low profile. You're trip to the ER was the first recordable incident we've had in the health and safety department since, well…since Snow started sticking his nose in our policies and procedures."

All of the words I'd ever heard my father speak about Snow echo through the back of my mind and an uneasy feeling settles over me. "Is that a coincidence?"

"More like unlucky if you ask me, it was all a matter of time before something like this happened. But don't you worry about it right now, rest up and I'll see you in two weeks."

"I thought you said one."

"I said one or two, and after reacquainting myself with your cheery disposition, I'm going with two. Trust me, Sweetheart, it's for your own good." He drops his feet to the floor with a loud "thud" and pats his knees twice before standing up. "Got anymore of those boy's cheese buns left?"

"Sorry, fresh out," I mumble, shifting my gaze to the dark window only to see my reflection staring back at me. Haymitch hobbles to the door to take his leave, but before he does, I call out to him.

"Hey, what about Gloss, is he OK?"

"Yeah yeah, he's fine," he says as he waves me off. "But if you ask me, if it wasn't for him and his quick thinking, well…things might not have turned out so great on your end."

I swallow thickly at the thought. "What'd he do…exactly?"

"Apparently, as soon as you went unconscious, he called 911 right away, told them to have an ambulance meet him at the trail entrance closest to where you guys were. Said he carried you all the way and by the time he got there, they were already waiting. He called me right after they left for the hospital with you. When I picked him shortly after, the kid was white as a ghost."

He carried me? I conjure up a mental image of the monitoring map and from what I can remember; the closest entrance to the trail had to have been over a mile away. I can't believe he had to carry my sorry ass over a mile away, through some rough trails too, and all in enough time to save me.

It's a sobering thought really.

But there's another one that hangs heavy over my head.

Now I owe him. My life.

The problem with having too much time on your hands and nothing to do with it, is that it allows your mind to wander. And in my case, that meant over thinking and over analyzing almost every thing that's happened recently.

Haymitch was true to his word with regards to forcing me to take time off work once I was discharged from the hospital. I tried to reason with him that it wasn't a big deal, but he kept on insisting it was for my own good. It was no use once he spoke with my mother though, who of course turned out to be good friends with the doctor that treated me while I was in the hospital. They ordered me to two weeks of bed rest and even though I made my disapproval for being fussed over very clear, I was actually a bit relieved. Headaches still plagued me most days and my body still felt lousy overall, so I was more than happy to use the excuse to sleep the days away.

I spend most of my uneventful days holed up in my room, confined to my bed for the first few days by order of my mother who decided to use her nurse veto power over my persistence that I was well enough to leave the house. Prim was kind enough to lend me her stash of gossip magazines, but it was only a matter of time before I grew tired of reading about who was dating who and which celebrity wore what outfit better and what they looked like without makeup. By day four, my mother eventually let me move down to the living room couch during the day where I was able to catch up on daytime television.

Luckily, I had a string of visitors most afternoons and evenings to keep me from going bat shit crazy. People joke about cabin fever, but only six days in and I was already getting restless. When Madge visited, she updated me on how her and Gale had hung out a few times since the night he kissed her after the bar and that he's actually taking her on an date next week. A quick text message to Gale confirmed it and I made it pretty clear that if anything should go awry between them, there was no doubt whose side I'd be taking, Madge, plain and simple.

The news took me by surprise actually, and if it was anyone else besides Madge, the whole ordeal might have made me a little uncomfortable. That's not to say I'm not a little worried about Gale's history with commitment issues, or more like his problem with labeling relationships, but the giddiness Madge displayed when she gushed over him makes me somewhat hopeful.

Johanna on the other hand, had been acting a little…different, since coming back from the hospital. When I innocently asked how things were going, she seemed defensive and on edge, like I was giving her the third degree by making small talk. For a fleeting moment, the possibility of a guy being the root cause of her uneasiness crossed my mind. I decided to brush it off though as one of her random mood swings, but made a mental note to bring it up again later, when she seemed less high strung.

Most afternoons, Peeta drops by the house when his shift is over at the bakery to keep me company, always with a treat in tow and his sketchbook under his arm. I swear I've gained ten pounds over the past week from the sugary confections and my lack of physical activity from "taking it easy". I've caught him nose deep in his sketchbook a few times as he sits opposite me on the couch while I pretend to watch Shark Week reruns. It's hard paying attention to the screen when one of nature's anatomical masterpieces is sitting right across from you, brow furrowed in intense concentration and tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth.

I find my eyes drawn to his hands as he works, gliding quickly across the paper with alternating short and long fluid strokes. Sometimes I wonder how he came to be so talented, was it a learned skill from hours of practice? Or was he just born perfect? When I ask him what he's drawing, he just closes his sketchbook with a smirk and his answer is always work related; a bakery order for so and so's wedding or baby shower or a milestone birthday cake.

The thought of Peeta designing a cake for a baby shower or a little kid's birthday party tugs at something deep in my chest. It makes me smile. I've observed him interacting with children on many occasions while out in public and at the bakery; he's such a natural with kids, just like his dad. I can only imagine the joy it brings him to be able to create an edible masterpiece that will bring a smile to some little kid's face as they devour it greedily.

In the evenings, he insists on seeing me to bed, helping me up the stairs and back into my bedroom for the night. Something about my balance and depth perception being off and not wanting me to trip on the steps. But I think it's just an excuse for him to feel useful. He hasn't said anything about it yet, but I have a suspicion that he feels guilty about what happened to me. As if he somehow failed in protecting me from what happened out at the quarry, which is ridiculous of course because how could he, or anyone for that matter, have prevented it? I'm hesitant to confront him about it, but that's not a first.

I can only imagine what my parents make of all of this, about us and him insisting on doing his part to take care of me. But so far they've been pretty cool about it, even Prim acts like he belongs here. Not that I'm complaining, it's nice knowing that my family approves of him and his caring and doting nature is doing nothing but win him extra brownie points with my mother.

Once I'm tucked in bed, he usually leaves me with a quick kiss goodnight before turning off the light and heading back home to his apartment. I wish he'd take me with him, or stay over at least. But I don't ask him to, I know why he doesn't. Although I'm sure my parents don't care, I know he doesn't feel right about sleeping in the same bed as me while under their roof. Sometimes I wish he wasn't so keen on sticking with his old fashioned I-need-to-respect-your-parents mentality.

It's the one thing that starts to eat at me as the days pass, his reserved nature when he's here. He doesn't touch me. Not the way I want him to that is. A kiss to my check or forehead, holding my hand while sitting on the couch, patting my back comfortingly when I complain that my muscles are stiff.

But that's it. That's all I get.

I've tried on numerous occasions to convey the urgent need that consistently throbs between my thighs. To get my point across, I've tried turning my face to capture his lips when he leans in for a kiss or moving his hand up my thigh when he pats it tenderly, but my efforts never quite pan out. God forbid I tell him what I want though. I'm too chicken shit for that.

On the Friday night of my last week of bed rest, before I have to head back to work on Monday, Peeta comes over to keep me company for the evening. For the first time since returning home, we have the house to ourselves. He decides we should have a movie night and I'm not sure how he manages it, but he somehow convinces me sit through a scary movie. With me curled up into his side and a blanket covering both of our bodies, I decide I can't take it anymore; I have to make a move.

I'm too focused on keeping from jumping him and pinning him to the back of the couch to notice what's going on in the movie. Emboldened by my lustful desire, I place a steady hand on his thigh and lightly run my thumb across the hem of his shorts, grazing the sensitive skin of his inner thigh with each pass. His muscles twitch beneath my fingertips and he nudges his leg closer to me. I take it as a sign that under that golden-boy facade of his, he's just as eager as I am to tear off each other's clothes. There's only one way to find out I guess.

The grip he has on my shoulder tightens as I teasingly drag my hand up his inner thigh, but when I'm mere inches from the juncture of his shorts, his other hand is on top of mine, halting my movement.

"Katniss," he hisses, "what are you doing?"

I turn to face him with a wicked grin. "Isn't it obvious?"

"What about your par—"

"Does it look like anyone else is here?" I cringe when I realize my tone must have come across much harsher than I intended.

He frowns and repositions our hands back to my lap, on top of the blanket of course. "No, but who knows when they'll be back, or Prim."

I retract my hand from his and cross my arms over my chest in frustration. "Prim's sleeping over at Rue's," I pout. Peeta chuckles lightly and it sours my mood even more. "So when did you take a vow of celibacy?"

"Katniss." He picks up the remote and pauses the movie; it's a lost cause by now anyway. When he turns to face me, I quickly look away and slump further into the couch. "I just don't feel comfortable…you know, fooling around when we're here. I can't help but feel like I'm somehow violating their trust by taking advantage of their absence. Besides, it's just two more days of house arrest and then things can get back to normal."

"But it's been two weeks!" I whine. He tries to wrap his arm around me again but I recoil away and scoot over to the end of the couch. "And a girl has needs," I mutter under my breath. I'm well aware that I'm being a little over dramatic but I don't really give a shit, not when I have the raging hormones of a teenager coursing through my veins.

Peeta sighs loudly and I chance a glance at him from the corner of my eye. His inner turmoil is written all over his face as he debates his options. He runs a hand though his shaggy hair and huffs, as though he's made his decision. "It's getting late, I should get going."

I stare at him in disbelieve for moment before turning to confirm the time on the digital receiver. 9:34 pm. Um, not exactly late in my books. Is he upset with me? Did I push my luck this time? Fuck that, don't I deserve to be comforted the way I want?

"Are you serious?" I balk, my scowl deepening with each passing second.

He runs his hands down his thighs and stands. "I'll see you up to bed," he says as he picks up the remote again and powers everything down.

I can't believe he's acting like this. It's beyond infuriating and I'd rather him not see me anywhere, especially not to my bedroom right now. "I don't need your help," I hiss, shoving the blanket off my lap and hurrying over to the stair case. I don't even get to the second step when I sense him behind me; just being there makes my blood boil beneath my skin. Just his presence is enough to distract me and I misjudge the height of the next step. Before I face plant into the next step though, he pulls me back and scoops me up into his arms as if I weigh as much as a bag of air.

"You sure about that?" he asks, his grip on my thigh and my side tightening. I consider struggling out of his hold, but once I breathe him in, the clean scent of his white shirt and the odd combination of cinnamon and dill that lingers on his skin, I go limp in his arms. This is the closest he's allowed me to come to him in weeks so I take full advantage of the opportunity.

I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck and begin to plant heated, open-mouthed kisses up his neck. As he cautiously navigates the steps, I throw my arms around his neck to pull him closer, running my lips up down his chiseled jaw line. He inhales sharply when I begin to nip the skin just below his ear, which causes him to almost loose his balance as he pushes the door to my bedroom open with his leg.

He doesn't bother to turn on the light as he walks us over to my bed and sets me down gently. I'm worried he'll pull away all too soon and leave me like this, hot and bothered with only my fingers to relieve my aching center, but he doesn't. Instead, he hovers over me, straddling my legs with his knees, worshiping the exposed skin above my breasts while his hands trace teasing circles along my arms.

Goosebumps pepper my skin from the combination of his lips and his warm breath. I'm screaming at him in my head to move further down, to lift up my shirt and take each of my puckered nipples into his mouth. When he doesn't show any signs of moving, I try to shift myself further up the bed. Once he catches on to what I'm trying to do, he stops and looks down at me.

"Don't you want me?" I ask in a defeated tone.

He takes my hand in his and slowly drags it over his thigh to the thick bulge straining against his shorts. I grasp him firmly and run my palm along the length of his cock. "What do you think?" he groans.

"Then what's wrong? Why'd you stop?" When he pulls away and leans back on his knees, I cover my face with my hands and let out a frustrated sigh.

"You know why I—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know why. Fine. Have it your way then." I drop my face to the side and stare at the door. He's going to owe me big time when all of this is through.

Peeta rolls himself off of me, my old childhood bed squeaking loudly as he lands on his feet. I've never really realized how loud it is. I guess that's because I've never had someone, a guy specifically, in my bed before. My imagination runs wild with the thought of how loud we could be if he just stayed. Fuck. It's not helping any.

He leans in one last time to place a chaste kiss to my check, but I take him off guard and latch onto the back of his head and guide his lips towards mine instead. He humors me for a few seconds, but once I swipe the tip of my tongue along the seam of his lips, he pulls away with a grin.

"Good night," he laughs, shaking his head. He turns to exit the room, but I catch his hand.

"Stay with me," I plead, squeezing his hand gently. "Just until I fall asleep." He pauses for a moment and gazes down at me, his deep blue eyes dark and glassy in the moonlight. I tug on his hand, guiding him to kneel next to the bed. "I have a hard time falling asleep after watching scary movies." It's not a complete lie, I used lay awake for hours after watching horror films, but I haven't had trouble falling asleep after in years.

He raises his eyebrows doubtingly as he rests his elbows on the edge of the mattress, his weight causing me to roll a little towards him. "Uh huh," he whispers before brushing my knuckles against his lips. It's a simple yet intimate gesture that causes my heart to flutter in my chest and every muscle in my body to twitch in anticipation.

There's no way I'll be able to fall asleep with him sitting next to me, watching me with hooded eyes and a piercing stare that sends shivers straight to my throbbing core. One of his hands finds its way to my hair and he frees the end of my braid from my hair tie. My eyes flutter closed as he runs his fingers through my hair, the slight tugging at my scalp surprisingly soothing as I feel my muscles begin to uncoil and my breathing returns to normal.

I must lose track of time. I have no idea how long he's been brushing out my hair when I feel myself starting to slip under the heaviness of sleep. I release a breathy sigh when I no longer feel his fingers in my hair and mutter his name. I hear him whisper something back, three short syllables I think, but I don't quite catch it.

Author's Note:

So so sorry for the long wait, I hope there are still people out there reading! There are actually only a few chapter left after this, hard to believe actually, and most are already written. So not such a long wait for the next chapter, I promise!

Thank you to everyone who has kept with me so far and to those who have followed, favorited, and reviewed! Don't be shy and please leave a review, I love hearing from you and your thoughts!

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