Chapter 5: Then Somebody Bends, Unexpectedly

Over the next few days, I wage an internal debate about whether I should apologize to Peeta. He has been nothing but nice to me in my limited interactions with him, and all I ever manage to do is spit in the face of his kindness.

I should apologize, I finally decide. There is no easy way to go about it, but I screw up my courage and march from the Seam to his house in Town. I hesitate on his front step, shifting my game bag between my hands. As a woman from the Seam, I know how it might look, my coming to his front door, so I hope the presence of my game bag will ward off any suspicions. And I am fairly certain his wife isn't home; Annalise is a cleric at the Justice Building and should be at work in the middle of the day. Chewing on my lip, I force myself to knock before I can talk myself out of it. Then I hold my breath.

When Peeta opens the door, he narrows his eyes in confusion. "Katniss—"

"I'm sorry," I say quickly, surprising him. "For the other day. In the Hob. I had no right to—to say what I did. It's none of my business what happens between you and your—and your wife."

Peeta purses his lips, scratching his chin thoughtfully as he stares over my head, and I fidget in the silence, bunching the hem of my blue dress in my fingers. "No, it isn't any of your business," he says brusquely, and I flinch. He sighs, dropping his gaze to my face. "But I suppose everyone in this district has made it their business, so I'm not surprised you know. But I accept your apology."

I inhale deeply, relieved. "Okay, well...that's all I wanted to say."

His brow creases as he stares at me, and his face softens. "Would you like to come in? For some tea?" he asks, opening the door wider, and I gawk at him.

"Isn't that—isn't that inappropriate?" I choke out, glancing around apprehensively.

Peeta slumps against the door frame with a wry smile. "More inappropriate than discussing my wife's infertility on my doorstep?"

Cringing, I flush in horror, and I open my mouth to apologize again, but he waves it off. "It's fine. Stop apologizing. Have some tea with me, and we'll call it even, okay?"

With one last look over my shoulder, I toss my game bag across my back for added effect and follow him inside as he steps aside to let me in. He leads me to the kitchen, and I try to discreetly inspect their home. It is nice. Cozy. Better decorated than Gale's and my house. I wonder if that is something Merchants are taught growing up, interior design. Gale and I don't much see the need for frivolous things like decorations, not when that money could be better spent on essentials. Like food and clothes. I feel a little envious, but I swallow the feeling, standing awkwardly in Peeta's kitchen while he digs through the cabinets for cups.

"You have a nice home," I say quietly, setting my bag down. He looks back at me with a forced smile.

"Thank you," he says tightly, and I wonder if he is uncomfortable because he knows my house in the Seam is probably anything but nice. "Lissy's doing, I guess. I don't...really care for that stuff. Please, have a seat."

I perch awkwardly in one of the chairs at the kitchen table, as if I am ready to take off running at any moment. Peeta sits down across from me, setting two tea cups and a kettle down between us. "Would you like sugar?" he asks, offering me a cup of sugar cubes, and I shrug.

"I guess."

He spoons a couple into my cup, then pours me some tea. He doesn't put any sugar in his cup, I note. He hands me a spoon, and I use it to stir my tea while he sips from his own cup. We sit in silence for a moment, and I gulp my tea eagerly for lack of something to do. Peeta watches me intently, and I begin to squirm, setting my cup down.

"So, uh, condoms," he says abruptly, startling me. "That's an interesting trade. How did you get started doing that?"

I stare at him as if he has sprouted a second head. Birth control is normally a conversation I can have with anyone without batting an eye; it is just a trade to me, after all, and not something I find shameful. However, discussing it with him makes me break out into a light sweat. "Um. Well. I figured there was a real—a real dearth in birth control in this district," I say, looking at a cabinet behind him. "And, I guess, I figured since I had access to the, uh, components that I might as well." I shrug, fidgeting with the spoon. "My mother helped me in the beginning, to figure out how to make them. Since her family was, you know, in the apothecary business, she knew a lot of useful information."

He nods, and then he smiles. "You're really smart. Very resourceful."

I look at him sharply. Is he mocking me? His expression looks genuine. "I...have to be," I say, unsure, and he just nods again, sipping his tea. I struggle for something else to say. "How do you like teaching?"

He looks pleasantly surprised. "You know what I do?" I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. Is it weird that I know? I hide my face behind my cup, embarrassed. "I really like it. I teach reading and writing, things I enjoy. And I get to coach wrestling, which keeps me active. So it's good."

I nod. "What do you do in the summers?"

He grins. "Lose my mind." I raise an eyebrow, and he laughs at himself. "I get a little stir-crazy. Probably drive everyone else insane because I'm bugging them, trying to find something to do. I take odd jobs here and there. I bake. I draw. A lot."

This surprises me. "You draw?" He nods, looking a little sheepish. Then he points to a picture that hangs above the sink. My eyes widen; the charcoal sketch is so vivid, so precise, that I immediately recognize the apple tree from behind the bakery. The one I collapsed under 20 years ago. I swallow thickly, trying to find the words. "That's really...really...good. It's really good," I say lamely, draining the last of my tea. I set the cup down. "I should probably—I should go."

"Wait," he says, stretching his arm toward me, but he flattens his palm against the table. "Katniss...I would really like to be your friend."

That pulls me up short. "Friend?" I repeat, and he nods. Is this a joke? "You want to be my friend?" He smiles this time. "Don't you already have enough friends?" Gods, why can't I speak today?

He snaps his fingers. "You know what? You're right. I forgot I already made a new friend last week, so I guess I've hit my quota for the year." He grins at me, and my lips twitch in amusement. "I do have friends, but I would still like to be yours."

Friends. I don't really have any friends, I guess. Gale used to be my best friend, but now that we are married and constantly fighting, I don't really talk to him anymore, not like I did in the past. I used to be friends with Madge Undersee, but we drifted apart after we finished school, though Madge is pleasant enough when we run into each other in Town. And I get along with the other vendors in the Hob, especially Greasy Sae and Ripper, but I can't say I'd ever invite anyone over for tea, or they, me. Really, the only person I talk to extensively is Prim, but Prim has a daughter to raise now, patients to tend to.

I'm kind of lonely, I realize. It isn't a feeling I am used to; I usually like my solitude. But maybe I can use a friend now.

"Okay," I say simply, and he quirks an eyebrow.

"So you'll allow it?" I nod, and he smiles widely. "Okay." Sliding my chair back from the table, I stand up and grab my bag. Peeta stands up, too, and follows me to the door.

I turn around to face him. "Well...thank you for the tea, Peeta," I say, suddenly realizing how close he is to me. I am so unprepared for his proximity that when he pulls me into a hug, I find myself hugging him back before my reflexes kicked in and my body stiffens. He is already pulling away, the action so quick, but in that brief moment, I notice three things. The first is how sturdy he is, how broad his chest is pressed against mine. The second is how he smells, like cinnamon and dill—I think I recognize—a scent that is so strangely alluring, so oddly masculine. The third is the way the soft scruff on his face scratches my neck. Gale always shaves; he says he hates the feel and smell of the coal dust collecting in his beard while he works in the mines, and I have to agree.

Peeta steps back, looking as equally flustered. "Uh, sorry. Was that out of line?"

"N-no, it's fine, you're fine," I stammer, fumbling with the doorknob. "Bye." I try not to rush out of his house, but it takes every ounce of my self-control not to run as I cross through Town back to the Seam.

I pace my living room, trying to quell the anxiety surging inside me. Peeta and I are just friends, barely that, even, as we were mostly strangers not even an hour ago. I hardly know him; I don't know him enough to be fretting this much about him. It was only a hug. Peeta probably hugs all his friends. Just because I am emotionally and physically withdrawn, that doesn't mean others are as uncomfortable with affection as I am. I replay the way he wrapped his arms around me and flush at the memory.

I need a bath. Heating up some water on the stove, I gradually fill our small copper tub. By the time I've stripped off my clothes and slide into the tub, the water is only lukewarm, but I still sigh, the tension melting from my bones. I wash myself leisurely, lathering a washcloth with soap and running it over my body. Leaning my head back, I drag the washcloth up to my neck, and, unbidden, I recall the way Peeta's beard grazed against my throat. I gasp, my eyes snapping open as the thought sends a pulse of desire between my thighs. Shit.

So, I'm horny. Fine. Gale and I haven't had sex in a while, and my body just craves a release. I brush the washcloth over my breasts, and my other hand drops under the water between my legs, my fingers quickly finding the bundle of nerves that beg for my attention. The tips of my fingers press down, moving deliberately, and I try to conjure up an image of Gale to spark my arousal. But it is Peeta's grin, his bright blue eyes I see, his broad back and his soft beard I feel when I shudder in pleasure, gasping as I cum. As the high of my climax subsides, I sink farther into the water, racked with guilt and shame, until the water laps over my mouth. I shouldn't be thinking about another man like this. A man who is also married. What is wrong with me?

I quickly climb out of the tub and towel off, dumping the bathwater out back. When Gale comes home from work that evening, in my guilt, I seek out his affection. He regards me suspiciously when I sit in his lap at the dinner table.

"What's gotten into you?" he asks, and I shrug, pressing kisses along his neck.

"I just thought you might like a little relief after your day," I murmur, sucking on his pulse point, and he groans, his hands sliding under my skirts. I unbutton his pants and slip my hand inside to grasp his growing erection. "Let's move to the bedroom."

My husband and I have sex for the first time in months; after Gale's cum, he peels the condom off his cock and settles between my legs, finishing me using his tongue. Arching underneath him, I can't help but wonder what Peeta's beard would feel like against my thighs as he pleasures me with his mouth.

I lie awake for most of the night after that, Gale snoring away beside me, dead to the world.