There are so many things I want to say to him. Things I want to yell. I want to slam the door on his hand, repeatedly, until I hear the crunch of breaking bones. But when I look at him standing there, he's the Gale I remember. I hesitate and the anger slowly ebbs away, though it far from disappears.

I tell him, "You have no right to be here." The crisp, clear words are amazingly level considering how I'm shaking with rage inside. It wasn't enough for his incessant phone calls? He didn't feel like he'd pushed me by hounding me day after day over the phone? Now he stands on my front steps. I'm livid. Beyond livid. "You shouldn't be here," I repeat. "You ran away to District Two with your tail between your legs. You have no right to just come back on a whim. You don't belong here."

"I can't stop thinking about that kiss, Katniss."

He doesn't have to explain which kiss he's referring to. I know perfectly well which one he means. My stomach turns at the memory. I doubt he remembers it the same wayI do. "It keeps me up at night," he continues as if he hasn't heard a single one of my objections to his presence. "I remember the way you kissed me back, and it haunts me."

"I remember that too," I admit, teeth ground together. "It was right before I slapped you," I remind him. With a sigh, I continue. "Yes, I kissed you back. But I shouldn't have, Gale. It didn't mean anything. It was a mistake. That's all." I put emphasis on the last two words. His skull is as thick as mine and he is twice as stubborn, but I do my best to drive the point home.

"It meant something," he insists, which shows how terrible I am at this. "At some point, it meant something to both of us."

"At some point, maybe," I concede, though I'm not entirely sure. "But even if it did, which I'm only saying is possible… it doesn't mean anything now. Not anymore." I wonder how many ways I can say the same thing, how many ways he can find to make the same argument. We go round and round, and nothing seems to ever change. Except maybe I get a little more annoyed with him each time we talk. It puts fractures in whatever might still exist of our fragile friendship.

"Katniss, I just want the chance to-"

"I love Peeta." The words blurt from my mouth like an arrow from my bow. I clamp my mouth closed in shock, but it's too late. We both stare at each other with mixed horror and surprise. I'm not sure which of us is more caught off guard at the proclamation.

It takes Gale a moment to recover from my verbal bomb. While he stands and continues to stare at me in disbelief, I scramble to find the words to follow. I'm at a complete loss. There is no follow up to that.

Gale, however, feels inclined to try. "Do you?" I want to laugh. It sounds like a challenge. Something Snow would have put before me. I fully expect the next words to come out of his mouth to be, 'Convince me'. But Gale doesn't hold that kind of power over me, to demand such a thing. No one does anymore. I bask in the benefits of this world, this new version of Panem.

But Gale isn't done. "Or do you just think you can't live without him?"

It's something I've heard before. In the basement of Tigris's shop, in the Capitol during the war. Gale told Peeta I would pick whichever one of them I couldn't live without. It had bothered me then and even more so now. He has no right to show up at my front door and demand proclamations. No right to question what I may or may not feel for Peeta.

Anger wells inside of me. I realize this feeling filling me now is the reason Gale and I will never work out. We are the same side of a coin, too alike for our own good. We both love to pick at the scars of others just to prove we are right. We both have to be right all the time, but we hardly ever agree on what right is anymore.

"Stop." The word is sharp. Another arrow from my mouth, aimed straight for his heart. "Shut up." In all the time we've known each other, I've never demanded such from him before. "You have no right to show up here." I say it again, wishfully thinking it will stick this time.

Then he aims an arrow of his own. "You did the same thing, Katniss. You showed up, unannounced at my front door. Wanting to talk with me. To reconcile. That's all I'm doing."

That is not all he's doing. Not at all. But I'm already growing weary of this fight. I'm racking my brain for the next grenade, something to throw at him to knock him off his feet and off my front steps. I'm sidetracked by the sound of my name, called out from within the house.

With Gale's unexpected appearance at the door, I'd forgotten we were waiting for Haymitch. That Peeta's been in the kitchen this entire time and likely heard the front bell ring. He's probably wondering what's keeping me and Haymitch in the hallway. I spin on my heels, aiming to head to the kitchen to stall him. I'm too late. He's standing at the other end of the hallway, and I've moved to the side enough to offer him a clear view of who's standing in the doorway.

Peeta's smile as he approaches us looks as forced as the ones I usually muster. I wish the Capitol's black goo would cover the floor and suck me into the ground. I've only confessed my feelings to Peeta the one time, and now I've told it to Gale just the same. The last thing I need is them standing in the hallway together, dissecting my feelings. Dissecting me.

"Gale." Peeta's greeting is warm and friendly. Though I suspect Peeta would even invite the Peacekeepers trying to kill us into our home. He's far too civil sometimes. His face changes slightly when he reaches me, and for the briefest of moments I see the kink in his armor. "What a surprise and a pleasure," he tells Gale as he reaches around me to extend his hand to Gale.

It was a sliver of a glance, but I saw it. Peeta's about as happy to see Gale as I am. It comforts me, but only a little. They shake hands, the hold longer than customary. I wonder if it's a power play to see who has the stronger grip. I have to admit, I like this rare side of Peeta. He may appear meek and amicable to the untrained eye, but he will not go down without a fight and doesn't appreciate the intrusion.

Then Peeta says, "Why don't you come in? We were just getting ready for dinner and have more than we could possibly ever eat, especially if Haymitch doesn't show up soon." I have to resist the urge to punch him. I've spent this entire time trying to convince Gale to leave, and Peeta invites him into the house to stay longer.

"As long as it isn't an inconvenience," Gale says. He catches my eye and dares me to interject.

"Not at all. Always glad for company," Peeta replies before I get the chance. "What brings you to town?" he inquires as he ushers Gale inside.

I want to scream in frustration. I want to toss them both out onto the lawn and take my chances with an evening alone with Haymitch.

Gale tells us the new elects are going from district to district to get a feel for Panem after the war. To help them shape their policies and what they hope to accomplish while governing, or so he claims. He admits he's seen more than most, but that it's interesting to see how the districts have already starting to diversify and change in the year since the end of Snow's oppressive reign.

We sit in the living room. Peeta and Gale chat socially. I stare at the wall and will Haymitch to hurry his sorry ass over. Usually he shows up early and raids the cabinets before dinner is on the table. The one night he would be useful, and he's nowhere to be seen. I wonder if he caught sight of Gale and just decided to stay home. Possible. Probable.

The coward.

Peeta excuses himself to make tea and check on the food. I sit in uncomfortable silence with Gale, refusing to look anywhere but the slightly darker spot on the wall near the mantle.

"Did you sleep with him before you came to visit me in Two? Or after, when the visit didn't go the way you expected it to?"

It's a verbal slap in the face, and it stings like a bitch. My head turns to the side, putting my cheek in between us as a buffer. My lower jaw cocks to the right, and I grind my uneven teeth in anger and shock at the accusation. I have to grip both armrests of the chair to keep from leaping across the coffee table and punching him in the jaw. My rage has turned from fire to ice. "That," I spit out, "is none of your damn business." Each word is punctuated with a shard of ice, sharpened to a point. Then, because I cannot help but defend myself, I add, "But no, I hadn't. And I didn't."

"Oh, you did." His dry laugh is anything but humorous. "Maybe not right away, but you did. One look at you, Katniss, or one look at the newsfeeds, and that is painfully clear. What I can't get over is that you did it to hurt me. To drive me away. I never thought you were that cruel."

My grip tightens until my knuckles turn white. Now he's trying to get a rise out of me, and I won't give him the satisfaction.

"I'm sorry that I hurt you," he tells me, though he doesn't sound sorry for anything. "And for what happened to Prim. I know I'll never be able to make up for the fact that I didn't protect your family." Didn't protect them or killed them? There's a difference in my mind, even if there isn't in his. "But that doesn't give you the right to use Peeta just to upset me. Peeta deserves better than that."

He knows all the right buttons to push, I'll give him that. Knows exactly what to say to fuel my temper. I thought I'd hated him when we'd met in Snow's house in the Capitol. When I asked him about Prim and he didn't deny it. But the feeling then pales in comparison to how I feel in this moment. Like I want to rip his lungs from his chest and squeeze them until he's gasping for breath.

With his impeccable timing, Peeta reenters the room holding a tea tray just as I shoot up from my chair and move to step around the coffee table. "Get out." I don't yell it, but it's just as effective as if I had.

For a moment, Peeta pauses like he thinks I might be talking to him. Then he sees the way I'm standing and I see the warning in the way he looks at me. Peeta's presence is the only reason I don't act on my anger. I know he'll be disappointed if I do any of the things I'm debating.

Standing on the side of the coffee table, I look down at Gale. The presence of Peeta holding tea and the promise of getting to curl up next to him in bed tonight helps back me down off the ledge. "There is nothing left for you here, Gale," I finally say. "I have nothing left to offer you and I can't give you what you want. Not now. Not anymore."

I venture a glance back over to Peeta and wish I hadn't. It's all too much at once. "Leave, Gale," I practically beg. "Just leave."

On cue the front door rings. If it isn't Haymitch, I'm going to shoot whoever else it is. The sound of the bell does not break the tension. If anything it builds it. No one moves. Then Gale starts to protest, and Peeta puts his foot down as he sets the tray on the coffee table. "She asked you to leave," Peeta says politely. "I think it's best if you respect her wishes now." Abet with an apology, Peeta escorts Gale to the front door as he goes to let Haymitch in.

I stay in the living room, figuring it's the safest place for me at the moment. They hover by the front door before Peeta opens it and ushers Gale out while he invites Haymitch in. With Haymitch present, we don't discuss it, though Haymitch does his best to broach the subject of Gale's appearance several times throughout the meal. By the time Haymitch leaves, I'm too exhausted to get into it. I get the feeling Peeta is too, so we go to bed and don't speak a word about any of it.