Always
Peeta's always.
Several "always" stories of young Peeta and a short run of the three books in the end. Katniss and Peeta grow back together.
I love the Hunger Games. I will forever. Suzanne Collins owns everything!
The texts in bold font are all Suzanne Collins! Please don't sue me. I just love your work.
Peeta Mellark was the youngest of three boys in the Mellark household. He lived in a bakery surrounded by the smell of rising dough and baking bread. Cake and cookies were always present in the display case, but he was not allowed to eat them as he pleases. His mother was very strict with this. No cookies unless it is stale. Stale cookies are still better than no cookies. Peeta always waited at the end of the day when his father would empty the cases. He would hide behind big sacks of flour, watching hungrily as his father separates the stale pastries from the still fresh ones. His eyes would glimmer with his father's every motion as he carefully moves pastries around. Chocolate chips cookies were always sold out. They only make enough of it because chocolate is expensive and only the richest from the merchant class buy it. Snickerdoodles were plenty because cinnamon and sugar were cheap. Peeta always gets the sweet sugar cookies. His brothers, Rye and Mason, would tell him that he smells like cinnamon in their shared bedroom because of it.
When his father is done closing shop, Peeta pulls the small step stool made by his father. It's been handed down to him by his older brothers. Soon he will be using it in the kitchen when he starts learning their family craft. For now, it is Peeta's most precious possession because it lifts him to the display case. He bites his tongue as he selects his dessert for the day. There are three snickerdoodles, an apple pocket pie, and a blueberry muffin with an oat crumble. He eyes the pocket pie, but Rye beats him to it, suddenly appearing behind him, not needing the step stool to reach the case. Peeta protests, but Rye stuck his tongue out to him and licked the pie crust, reveling in the sweet glaze. "Hmmmph …" Peeta fumes red, eyebrows wrinkled as they can be with his cute face. He narrows down his choices again. He was about to get the muffin, extending his little fingers to reach it, but Mason's sharp, loud whistle distracts him, and he lost the muffin. Mason pats his shoulders. "Next time, Peet," his older brother says and walks away, almost giddy with the muffin on his hand. Peeta wants to cry, his eyes are watery, and his nose starts to run. He sniffs and sniffs, trying his best to hold back tears. There are three cookies left, but he knows he can only get one because his mother would lecture him about his teeth rotting from too much sugar. Peeta wraps the familiar cookie in a handkerchief and hides it in his pocket. He almost forgot to close the case and quickly stepped up the stool to slide it.
Dinner was simple but hearty. Peeta had a bowl of pumpkin soup with a warm bread roll. It's yesterday's bread, but his father always makes it better by warming it before dinner. Mrs. Mellark makes Mason wash the dishes, and Peeta escapes to his hiding place behind the sacks of flour. He takes the cookie from his pocket and finishes it in three bites. He licks his fingers then his lips. He would lick his shirt filled with sugar and cinnamon if he could too. He remembers the apple pie and blueberry muffin - his brothers always get the better treats.
Mr. Mellark makes him mix the flour, sugar, yeast, and salt. He dips his tiny little hands in the soft white powder and mucks it around the huge bowl. He flicks his finger, and flour flies out. He flicks it again and hits his father on the face. For a moment, his eyes widen with fear, but it didn't last when his father flicks back flour on his golden curls. The two of them laugh. Peeta almost fell off the stool from laughing too hard, but his father's big warm hands catch him.
"Careful, Peet," Mr. Mellark says gently.
"Thanks, Dad!" Peeta mutters with his small happy voice.
Things get more exciting when his father adds water and melted butter to the flour. Peeta wrinkles his nose and hunches his shoulders as he moves his hands around the sticky white stuff. It sticks everywhere, and his hands become heavy as his fingers cling together. The bowl wobbles as he mixes but Peeta is determined to get the job done. He wants to impress his loving father.
Peeta quickly learns that his desires aren't always met with the intended results. Peeta's weak arms and small hands are no match for the sticky stuff, and he tires easily. Sweat builds on his forehead and his armpits. His father saves him by pulling out his hands from the bowl. Free hands feel great, especially when his father scrapes out the rest of the dough. Mr. Mellark finishes the job, and Peeta watches his father's strong and deft arms as it turns the mix into a soft, smooth, and sweet-smelling dough.
Mr. Mellark is a genius with the rolling pin, and he turns the risen dough into a sheet. Peeta gets to try the rolling pin but quickly shows his dislike of the heavy wooden tool. A slab of cold butter is layered next, and Mr. Mellark gives Peeta a tiny chip of cold butter. It's firm and cold on his tongue but tastes much better once it gets warm. He savors the subtle flavor and the fat coating his palate. "Hmmm" escapes his mouth, and he gives his father a wide grin with twinkly eyes.
It took ages to finish, and Peeta felt that he grew two inches taller when the bread was baked. His father calls it a "croissant," but Peeta deems it hard to pronounce and calls it a "straight snail." It's ridiculous to think of a straight snail, but Mr. Mellark just smiles at his youngest son. He stayed long enough for the pastry to be finished, unlike Rye and Mason when they were first taught. They simply got bored waiting and never returned when they were given a break.
"You like bread, son?"
"Yes!" he chirps as he smells the freshly baked straight snails. "Do I get to taste one tomorrow?" Peeta thinks of tomorrow because fresh bread always goes straight to the display case.
Mr. Mellark scratches his head, a look of sadness covers his face as he eyes his most patient son. He is just four years old, and he already thinks it is normal to eat stale bread. Without a second thought, he picks the most golden croissant and puts it on a small plate. He slathers it with butter after slicing it. Then he slides the ceramic plate over to his son, whose eyes are still closed as he smells the rest of the pastries. The plate bumps his tiny belly as he leans on the table, and Peeta opens one eye. He peeks, shifting between his left and right eye, unsure of what he is seeing.
"Go ahead. Try it, Peet. It's really delicious when it is still warm," Mr. Mellark lovingly encourages his hesitant son.
Peeta eyes his father, but when he sees that he is sure, his excitement beams from his rosy pink face to the tip of his nose. He rubs his hands together, a wide grin showing his loose tooth, as he braces for the moment he would taste his first fresh bread. The straight snails are nothing like snails at all. It's flaky, buttery, light, and smells better than anything else in the whole of Panem. The knob of butter melts and seeps into the layers and holes, and Peeta thinks it is the best creation ever. He secretly wishes that there will be leftovers tomorrow. He is young, he can still dream big.
"How do you like it, son?"
"It's the best!" Peeta tweets with a high-pitch voice. He takes a piece of the croissant and leans forward on the wooden counter to puts it in his father's mouth. He smiles as his father chews, and he finishes the rest of it in four large bites.
"I think it would be good with chocolate and honey. Like a dip or a glaze," he suggests in between chews. His mind wanders to what else he could add to it. "Jam too!"
"Sounds perfect, Peet. You have good taste. You will be a good baker when you grow up, son." Mr. Mellark stands a little taller, more secure that his family's legacy will continue through his blue-eyed four-year-old. Rye and Mason will inherit the bakery, but the love for bread will always go to Peeta.
It's April, and Peeta's tenth birthday is next week. The weeks before had been beautiful, and the spring air makes everyone feel a little lighter. Even the coal miners are a tad bit happier when they return from work. Plants are in bloom, and the meadow is filled with wildflowers.
"Achoo!" Mrs. Mellark blows her nose into a white hanky. Spring is never a good time for her because of all the pollen. She would wear a miner's mask if she could, but she is above anything related to the Seam. She would rather sneeze and endure watery eyes than being caught wearing some lowly worker's equipment.
"Mason, bring a tray of cookies here, please," she calls politely from the counter. She toned down her voice because there was a line of merchant teenagers eager to get sweet treats for their girlfriends. Mason comes out with a tray of assorted cookies and quickly puts them in the display case. A blonde, thick-haired classmate from school waves at him, and he subtly waves back, hiding his blush from his allergy-stricken mother.
When the line is gone, Mrs. Mellark counts the money on the counter and scribbles numbers in her worn-out notebook. There are mostly coins, but there are a few bills in the till from an expensive order from the mayor. The mayor's daughter will have her birthday next week too, just a day after Peeta's. More merchants come to the bakery during spring, celebrating all sorts of anniversaries. Peeta quickly learns that many couples get married during spring.
It's almost time to close shop, and Mrs. Mellark calls on Rye to start sweeping the floor. Her restrained tone is gone, and she means business when she shouts. Rye appears swiftly, sweeping from the far corner of the bakery all the way to the counter. He does it twice as his mother instructs then proceeds to get the mop. Mason comes in and wipes all the tables with a wet cloth. He puts the chairs up on the table and helps Rye mop the floor. No one complains because they know better than protest against their heavy-handed mother.
Mr. Mellark and Peeta are in the back, finishing and starting cake orders all at the same time. There's vanilla cake, cheesecake, lemon cake, and expensive chocolate cake. Mr. Mellark does all the decorating while Peeta does the layering and frosting. His mother thinks that his hands are not steady enough for the intricate borders and flowers needed for the cakes. The two generations work in companionable silence, giving each other counter space when needed. Mrs. Mellark passes by the kitchen, inspecting the cakes and checking them in her trusty notebook. She nods when they are done to her standard and slaps Peeta's hand when he puts just a little too much chocolate frosting. She has everything down to the number, and an extra dollop will not do. Mr. Mellark stays quiet, knowing better than to argue in front of his son.
"Do you want to try making flowers, Peet?" His father asks when his mother left the kitchen to have her evening tea.
"Really? I don't want to ruin the cake, Dad," Peeta denies but a hint of excitement could not be hidden from his bright blue eyes.
"I think it's time for you to learn, son. Honestly, you've been crumb coating and frosting for too long now. Come here and try the piping bag."
Mr. Mellark shows him first a simple border, and Peeta watches him carefully. He had already studied this border months ago. He would sneak in the middle of the night to try piping on trays then return the frosting back to cover his tracks.
Peeta picks up the bag, securing it in his now grown hands, and pipes around the cake. He bites his bottom lip in concentration. He could not do this just a year ago but an early growth spurt seems to have been in his favor.
"That is wonderful, Peet. Just wonderful," Mr. Mellark says as he pats his son's right shoulder. Peeta flashes him a proud grin and gestures that he wants to try again on the next layer. He finishes decorating the whole cake and stands back with his father to look at his creation. His father squeezes his shoulders and chuckles a little. Peeta lets out a breath and allows himself to be proud.
Mrs. Mellark quickly learns that his youngest son is good at decorating and puts him on task with the cake orders when his father is out on deliveries. His mother is always so efficient with putting the three boys to work that they hardly have any free time. Spring is not for playing outside in the Mellark household. Spring is when you work from sun up to sun down six times a week. Sundays are for cleaning the ovens.
Peeta's birthday is today, and he bounces off of his bed to do what he likes best - decorating cakes.
Peeta is making flowers for the mayor's strawberry cake when he hears a familiar knock on the back door. He nervously puts the piping bag down at the edge of the counter and walks towards the door. A big olive-skinned man stands in front of him with squirrels tied on his belt. Peeta dared to look up to see his face and was relieved to see kind gray eyes looking back at him.
"Hello, Peeta." A gentle, low voice greets him.
"He-hello, Mister Everdeen," he lets out and swallows a growing lump on his throat. He sees another olive skin with braided black hair kicking rocks behind him. Suddenly, his heart races.
"Is your father here, son?" The man asks.
"Ummm … Ummm," he mumbles. "He … he … is out on deliveries, but he will be here soon," he finally explains, trying not to look too obvious as he sneaks a peek behind the towering man. Mr. Everdeen raises his eyebrows as he catches Peeta looking at his daughter. Peeta blushes red.
"Hey there, Sir," Mr. Mellark suddenly appears and hands Peeta the empty delivery bags. Having an escape, he runs inside then perches up a side window to watch the two men. They talk a little before his father goes inside the kitchen with two squirrels and a few handfuls of plump strawberries. He returns with a paper bag. Inside are two loaves of bread and two cookies.
Mr. Everdeen takes a peek in the bag and raises his eyebrows.
"It's Peeta's birthday today. The cookies are for the two girls." Having to come to a silent understanding between fathers, Mr. Everdeen nods his head in thanks.
"He will be ten soon, is he? Katniss will be ten too in two months. Please give our happy birthday to your son," he says warmly. Peeta smiles at the word "our."
"Come here, Katniss," he calls his young daughter. "Why don't you say thank you to Mr. Mellark for giving you and Prim a cookie." He lets her peek inside the bag and smiles lovingly at his daughter.
"Thank you, Sir," the young girl says and quickly looks down at her shoelaces. If it were her, she would list it as a debt. She takes her cue from her father, and if he is okay with it, so she will be too.
The two fathers shake hands, and Peeta watches as two braids swing left and right as the young girl walks hand-in-hand with her father. He stores the memory in his strong mind and quickly returns to his cake decorating. He gets there just in time as the piping bag is about to fall off the counter. He catches it and swears under his breath from his stupidity. He realizes only now that he actually knew how to curse. Just as his bad luck continues, his mother enters the kitchen and hears him curse. She hits him in the head with a heavy hand, and he almost cursed again from the impact.
"No cursing in this house, Peeta!" she shouts and sees frosting on the floor. Peeta involuntarily squeezed the piping bag when his mother had hit him. "Look what you did, you useless thing!"
"I'm sorry, Mother," is all he could say as he tries to sniff back tears.
"Clean this up and get back to work," his mother commands and mutters more insults as she leaves the room. Peeta's tears begin to fall and he lets them, knowing that his mother won't be returning soon. Even on his birthday, Peeta always gets hurt by his mother.
First times are always fun for Peeta. First warm croissant from his father, first ice cream from Mason, first drawing notebook from Delly, the first game of kickball with Rye, and even a first warm hat from his mother. All his firsts were amazing, but this new first seems to be more dreadful than exciting. Peeta is going to kindergarten.
Even before his father knocks at the door, Peeta is already awake. His sleep was irregular, and his head is heavy with tiredness. Rye had told him that kinder was loud, crazy, and the teachers were very strict - even stricter than their mother. This terrified Peeta, and he has been dreading the first day of kindergarten ever since.
He puts on his crisp hand-me-down uniform and attempts to tie his shoelaces. He still doesn't understand how rabbit ears could go around holes and do loops, but he tries anyway. He scrunches his nose and bites his tongue as he recites the rhyme, but when he is done, the laces come undone. He scratches his head and finds his older brother Mason. Mason is tying his shoelaces too, and Peeta sits beside him, extending his legs in front of his brother.
"Could you tie it for me, Mason?" Peeta asks in his kindest voice.
"Don't worry, Peet, you will get the hang of it. I'll double-knot your shoelaces so they don't come off in school."
Peeta watches his brother seriously, reciting the rhyme as his brother loops and pulls at bunny ears. He loops it one extra time and tugs at it to make sure it doesn't come undone.
"Thanks, Mason. You're the best!" Peeta chirps towards his golden-haired brother. All the Mellark boys have golden curls and blue eyes, but Peeta has the bluest and brightest of them all.
"You ready boys?" Mr. Mellark asks his three curly sons. They stand in front of him, waiting for their lunch bags.
Mason gets a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a small carton of milk, and a few blueberries. Blueberries are his favorite.
Rye gets a melted cheese sandwich, a small carton of milk like Mason, and a container of broccoli. He didn't eat his vegetables last night, so it went straight into his lunch bag.
Peeta waits as his brothers inspect their lunches. He stands on tippy-toes, trying to see what his father packed for him, but it is high up on the counter. Mason and Rye run out the door once they put their lunches in their packs. Peeta is left behind with his father. He will walk Peeta to school, just like he did for his older brothers.
"And for you, son …" Mr. Mellark pauses, "I have a ham and cheese sandwich, a carton of strawberry milk, and an apple crumble."
Peeta almost forgot his predicament at the sound of crumble, and his mouth salivates as he thinks of apples, cinnamon, and dark sugar baked together. He smells the content of the bag, and his tiredness goes away. His bliss was momentary, however, as his father reaches for his hand.
"Time to go to school, Peet."
Peeta hesitates at his father's extended hand. He wants to hide behind the flour sack and eat his crumble. He releases his breath in acceptance of his fate and grips his father's big hand. The walk took twenty minutes, but his lack of sleep and obvious misery weighs him down more than the physical exertion. They've practiced this walk before so Peeta would know the way.
They stand outside the gate of the school, and Mr. Mellark kneels down to reassure his worrisome son. His grip on his hand was the tightest it has ever been. He looks around the grounds, finding something that would interest his youngest. He sees a familiar blonde lady.
"See that little girl?" Mr. Mellark points towards a girl wearing a red plaid dress with hair in two braids instead of one."I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner."
Curiosity gets the best of Peeta. A coal miner? "What? You're making that up!" he exclaims.
"No, true story," his father argues, a little happy that his young son is speaking again.
"A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?"
"Because when he sings … even the birds stop to listen."
Peeta ponders on his father's answer and resorts to just accept it. Nobody sings in the Mellark household, so he doesn't have any references.
"Okay, Peet. I have to go now. Rye and Mason will walk home with you after school."
"Do I really have to stay?" His attempt is futile, but he tries nonetheless.
"Yes, Peeta. School is important. You will get the hang of it."
Mr. Mellark gives him the biggest, warmest hug ever, then he let goes. Peeta walks to the gate and follows the other children his age. Delly grabs his hand, and he was a little happy to already have a friend.
School wasn't as terrible as Rye had described it. Actually, it wasn't terrible at all! Peeta made many friends as they recognize him from the bakery. They sat together to draw, played kickball, and ate snacks under an oak tree. None of his teachers were like his mother, and one even complimented him for his bright blue eyes. The day is about to end except for one more class. "Music assembly," his kindly teacher says, and they are all whisked to a big hall. They sat on the floor with their legs crossed and waits for the teacher to speak.
"Okay now, who knows the valley song?" The skinny music teacher asks.
A small olive hand shoots up from across the room where the girls were seated, and the teacher stood her up on a stool to sing. Peeta recognizes the girl as the one his father pointed out by the gate. She opens her mouth to sing, and suddenly you could hear a pin drop. Even the birds outside fell silent. Peeta sat there, mouth partially open, bright blue eyes staring dazed at the singer. Everyone disappears as the soft, sweet, and melodious voice fills his ears. He was a goner.
The song ends, and Delly had to slap his rosy cheeks three times before he comes to. He blinks and blinks, then stares at Delly, stunned how she got there without him noticing.
"Come on, Peet," Delly says and pulls at his sleeves. "I want to eat lunch."
Peeta's lunch was already gone, except for the apple crumble that he hoped to save when he gets home. There are too many children in school, and he doesn't want to share. He learns that the girl's name is Katniss. He repeats it quietly under his breath as he tries to look for her in the playground. He spots her on a table across the yard, sitting alone as she opens her lunch bag. Like metal on a magnet, Peeta felt a pull towards Katniss. He is in the middle of the yard when a dark boy with brown eyes blocks him.
"Where do you think you're going, Merchant?" The boy says threateningly.
Peeta was too stunned at the size of the boy and didn't know what to do. He swallows a lump on his throat and blinks at the scary human being.
"Scram!" The boy shouts as he stomps his foot on the ground in front of Peeta. He almost pulverized his new shoes.
Peeta ran back towards the oak tree and hid behind it. He dropped his lunch bag while he was running, and the tall boy picked it up. Peeta wanted to keep running, climb up the tree, or jump over the gate - anything that would take him far, far away from this place. But he doesn't know how to climb a tree, and the fence is too high to jump. Defeated, he sits down on the ground, balling himself as small as he could to hide. Tears threaten to fall on his cheeks, and he almost lost control of it until tiny fingers tap on his shoulder.
"You dropped this," the little voice says.
Peeta tucks himself smaller, still shaken from what had just happened. The voice repeats its message, and he lifts his head finally.
"Here, take it."
Peeta blinks. It's Katniss.
"How did you get it?" He asks, almost a whisper.
"I just got it. Do you want it?"
"Yes. Thank you." He was about to say more, but Katniss already ran away.
School ends, and Rye and Mason find him by the gate. Lunch bag on his chest, they walk home together as brothers. Peeta drops his pack and hides behind the flour sacks. He takes out the apple crumble from his lunch bag and takes a small bite. It's sweet, moist, and cinnamony. He remembers how his first day went - double knotted shoelaces, strawberry milk, drawing, kickball, huge scary boy, and Katniss in music assembly. His recollection ends with Katniss, and he knew just then that he would always love her.
Years pass and Peeta grew bigger and stronger. He is a baker's son, after all. All those years of having enough to eat and hauling bread trays around have made him broad-shouldered and strong. He can lift hundred-pound bags of flour as if it is nothing. He also wrestles now. He came in second in the school competition last year, only after his brother. Despite his size, he was never seen as someone scary on the contrary, he was quite sociable. Handsome, eloquent, and kind, Peeta was liked by everybody - and every girl - but he only has his heart set on one girl. Katniss.
Five years ago Katniss' father died from a mine accident along with other fathers of Seam families. Hers and her sister's death seemed certain through starvation and heartbreak from her catatonic mother, until one rainy day when fate began its twisted plan. There was rain, an apple tree, loaves of bread, and the baker's son. At school, the first dandelion of the spring made it clear. Katniss says to herself"To this day, I can never shake the connection between this boy, Peeta Mellark, and the bread that gave me hope, and the dandelion that reminded me that I was not doomed."Katniss' and Peeta's fate was indeed twisted - star-crossed, actually - as they both end up in the arena, twice. An unlikely place where one's death is the other's victory. But death could also be a sacrifice. There was a confession, a seeming betrayal, a cave, kisses, berries, clocks, poison fog, lightning trees, a pearl. There were many more, but the worst was the hijacking. If one could kill fate, Katniss would have shot him a long time ago. The baker, the painter who loves the orange of the sunset, the kind boy who never takes sugar with his tea and always double knots his shoelaces, has now gone mad. A sad remnant of who he was, hidden behind shiny pictures of manipulated memories.Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancée. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. All the words meld confusingly in his mind to try to figure out the girl on fire."I can't tell what's real anymore, and what's made up," were his words in their mission that he was not supposed to be a part of. He became a pawn in the games meant to destroy the one he was always trying to protect.
Firebombs. Nightlock. Mutts. A double-exploding bomb. Friends and family - even a whole district died. An arrow shot at the wrong president. Life is so distant. Nothing makes sense. War doesn't make sense. Where there used to be snickerdoodle cookies, cake frosting, Valley song, and family was all gone. But like chess, the game can be restarted again or ended as one wishes. Peeta was made to forget, but how can he forget? The voice that silences birds. A full day on the rooftop of the Training Center. Nights in a shared bed. A hungry kiss on the beach. Peeta remembers, but he needs the one person his heart never forgot to love to affirm them.
Peeta and Katniss grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. Shared nights of lost sleep and screaming, but his arms are there to comfort her. And eventually his lips.
A different kind of hunger consumes them. Peeta is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again.
Time jumps fifteen years later, and the shared in-betweens are many varied stories for another time. But one thing is certain in all the versions. Whenever the boy with the bread whispers to his girl with gray eyes," You love me. Real or not real?" the answer would be "Real."
Always
I really enjoyed writing this one. Drop me a line if you can. I really appreciate feedback so I could improve my writing.