"How do we survive, Peeta?" she asked, one day, out of the blue. They were both hiding from the sun in his house, windows and blinds closed to keep the heat out, as much as possible.
"We drink a lot of water, go out only when the sun is down, and hope it doesn't last for ages," he answered, standing up to fetch another pitcher of cold lemonade from the fridge. "I guess we could also go to your lake, and bathe in it, but the truth is, I really can't see myself walking there in this heat."
They had been to the lake regularly since Katniss took him the first time. They celebrated her birthday there, far away from the crowd of people that had gathered in the day leading to her celebration. That was when Katniss had showed him the small cabin that was built a few yards inside the woods, where they had slept one night on their own.
Which had elicited a search and rescue party that had the whole district looking for them.
They even made the news in the Capitol.
President Paylor even sent a reminder that Katniss had to remain within the boundaries of the former District 12.
The reminder was named Gale Hawthorne.
Whose only question had been about Katniss's toothbrush in Peeta's bathroom.
Peeta smiled at the memory, at how Katniss had kicked Gale out of their - his - house, forbade him to enter hers, sent him to the newly opened inn in the town center.
They hadn't spoken about him after. He was history.
"Want some?" he asked, showing Katniss the pitcher of lemonade.
She was lost in her thoughts, he could see it, her gaze fixated on some point over the mantel of the fireplace. He didn't say a word, setting the pitcher on the table between them, before returning to his armchair, his sketchbook. He had the memories of the lake to put on the paper in front of him, even if he was totally aware he would never be able to recreate the magic he had seen.
Yet, he kept trying.
"No, how do we survive after… after the Games, the war?" She broke their shared silence, her voice soft, a contradiction to the words she had used.
Outside, the muffled sound of a storm echoed in the back.
Peeta set his pen and sketchbook aside. Looking at her, he could see the question dancing in her eyes, the one he sometimes asked himself very late at night, when sleep evaded him.
"We keep on breathing, I guess. We've been through so much, we can't give up now. It would be too easy." He stood up, walking towards the closed windows. "We can't give up, Katniss. We can't. We have to live our life fully."
"But why?"
"Because that's what they would have wanted. That's what we fought for." He sighed, letting his thoughts wander from Finnick, the friend he wished he had known better, to Prim, the sister he wished he had, to his parents, the family he wished had loved him. "For those who hoped. Those who cried. The ones who died."
His thoughts were on them, now. His brothers, his father. Even his mother. How Tyler never failed to get caught when he was coming back from gallivanting at the slag heap. Sam's quiet laugh. The day his Dad showed him the proper way to knead bread.
The day his mother smiled at a drawing he handed her.
They were nothing but dust, now. Gone with the wind, scattered everywhere.
Two small arms took him out of his thoughts. Two small arms, encircling him from behind. Katniss was hugging him, just the way he did when they were asleep, in an embrace that gave him enough comfort without restraining him in any way.
Two arms that showed him she was there for him.
The clouds exploded above their heads, making them both jump in surprise. She didn't let go of him.
He was glad she didn't.
Heavy drops of rain started to fall on the windows. Yet, they didn't move.
"Have you ever danced in the rain?" Her whisper echoed in his ear.
"What?" He was trying to make sense of her words. Dance in the rain? What for?
"Have you ever danced in the rain?"
"Why would I do such a thing?" he finally answered, still wondering what she meant.
She didn't reply. Instead, he felt the grip she had on him loosen, until her arms weren't there anymore. Soon, though, her small fingers nestled in his larger hand, tugging at him.
"Come on, Peeta, it's going to be fun!"
Maybe it was her words, maybe it was the unbearable heat wave, maybe it was something else entirely, he couldn't say. He just followed her, through the living room, through the kitchen, until they reached the door.
Rain was now pouring heavily.
"Fun? We're going to be drenched! Where's the fun in that?" Peeta said, still unwilling to go out.
Katniss didn't answer, just opened the door, dragging him outside, into the rain.
Heavy drops fell on him., exploding on his head, his arms.
Warm water that started to clean his sweaty skin.
Refreshing him.
Refreshing them.
Cleaning him.
He let go of Katniss's hand, stepping fully onto the burnt grass of the garden, letting the water fall onto him.
His hair was soon soaked, the rain trying to tame his curls, as Peeta started to feel the water making its way under his shirt, right to his skin.
The tickling of the raindrops made him laugh.
He laughed, like he used to when he was a child, with his brothers. The memories came back in a rush, giggles in the small beds, muffled sounds to not draw attention to them, quiet laughs between brothers.
He missed them. He missed them so much it ached sometimes, it took all of his willpower to not cry. Crying was for the weaks, his mother said.
That day, under the rain, though, Peeta cried, the heavy raindrops hiding the tears.
Or so he thought.
He felt Katniss's fingers on his cheek, wiping away the moisture before travelling along his neck, shoulders, until his hands were in hers.
She took a step closer.
"Dance with me," she said, as if it was a natural thing to do, under the pouring rain, in the middle of a heatwave.
She went on, though, placing his hand on her waist, placing his other arm just like Effie had taught them almost three years ago, during the Victory Tour.
He didn't dare move. He could feel his heart beating against his ribcage, was utterly aware of every place Katniss was touching him. Something stirred into him, something he didn't dare name. Memories of feelings of years of longing coming back, only this time, they were stronger.
He felt her closer, suddenly.
She had taken a step, moving into the cradle of his arms, as she started to move, slowly, to a tempo he couldn't hear.
Of their own accord, his feet started to move. It took him a few seconds to find the right rhythm, for his body to remember how used they were to dancing together.
Only this time, they didn't have any music to guide them.
They didn't really need it.
They swayed, under the rain, to a rhythm they created.
A diatribe of injures broke them apart. They both turned towards the sound, to see a completely soaked Haymitch passing on the main street, pushing a cart full of supplies, asking whoever was listening or not why it had to start raining the minute he went out.
In much more explicit terms.
Peeta felt laughter bubble up at the sight of their old mentor, completely disheveled, throwing insults at every pebble he could find, at the rain, at the clouds above.
He heard the sound of his voice before he even realised he was laughing.
"Yeah, laugh all you want, Baker Boy! You're drenched too!" Haymitch yelled at him, before moving forward to his house.
That didn't stop Peeta, though.
Only when he turned to look at Katniss, his laughter died down.
He thought he had seen her radiant before.
How wrong had he been.
There, under the rain, in her old shorts and too thin blouse, her dark hair in a messy bun, her eyes shining, a smirk on her mouth, she was glowing.
She locked eyes with him, and he was lost.
He closed the space between them, his hands cupped her face, his thumbs lingering on her cheeks, his eyes lost in hers.
She didn't pull away.
Her hands gripped his arms, like she was anchoring herself to him.
He leaned in, looking for a sign she might back off, or run away.
She didn't.
She leaned in instead.
The touch of her lips had his heart beating harder, his pulse going up.
It was nothing like the kisses they had shared for the cameras, cold and staged.
It wasn't like the kiss on the beach, heated and desperate.
It was shy and calm, a discovery.
A newfoundland.
A new beginning.
One after the other, the layers of venom that had been built around his mind by the venom of the tracker jackers fell away.
Like old walls crumbling to leave space for something new.