I feel like we don't see enough of Peeta's frustration with Katniss, because as amazing as he is, he still isn't perfect, and we know he does break things when he's angry.

~0~

"Well, thanks for coming over, Katniss. It was nice to have some company."

She just nodded and closed the door behind herself. As soon as her form was off his porch, he felt his knee give out and he collapsed onto his couch, head in his hands.

He didn't realize he was crying until the door opened again and he noticed his palms were damp.

"Peeta?" He sniffed hastily, wiping his hands on his pants.

"Did you forget something?" He asked, trying to mask the shakiness in his voice.

"Yeah, I left my-are you crying?" She finally took note of his red eyes.

"I'm fine." He brushed her off, not meeting her gaze.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine." He repeated, looking at her forehead and giving a fake smile. She shook her head and came closer, watching him like she would a frightened animal. She tentatively wrapped her arms around his waist and tucked her head under his chin.

He sighed and another tear leaked out his eye.

"I'm tired, I'm going to bed now. I'll see you later." He pulled back from her shoulders, not meeting her eyes and swiping his cheeks hastily.

"Peeta, what's going on?"

He shook his head again.

"If I tell you, you'll run and leave me for who knows how long."

She shook her head, but stopped herself abruptly.

"I-I would. I might actually. But I'll try to stay, okay? Please tell me, you have to tell someone and I don't think Haymitch would be that receptive." He chuckled a little at this, a tiny, nervous sound that mocked him in echoes.

"Okay." He said simply, sinking back onto the couch. She sat beside him. He was silent.

"I can't read your mind, you know."

He laughed again, feeling his ears flush.

"Right. Well-" he breathed heavily, "you know how I feel about you." He could see Katniss fighting the urge to stop him, and watched until she nodded slowly.

"And well... I know how you feel about me. Well, I know what you don't feel for me. So I guess really... it's mainly... I'm tired."

"No, tell me, Peeta."

"That's it. I'm tired of faking everything. Except I'm not faking it, which just kills me and I'm tired of things being taken from us for the cameras and I'm tired of forcing you into this THING between us and I-" he put his head into his hands. "I'm just tired."

He didn't hear her move but suddenly her hands were on his shoulders, pushing him back into the couch. He watched her warily as she leaned closer. He didn't move away as her lips collided with his and though his eyes stayed wide open, hers fluttered shut almost immediately. He forced her back when the sounds of his fragmented heart cracking even more reached his ears. He looked at her and she bit her lip self consciously. He groaned, running his hand through his hair and then yelled in frustration. She looked taken aback.

"Sorry-"

"Katniss, I-" he began, swallowing hard. He grabbed her hand and stood, dragging her hastily into the kitchen where he searched his cabinets frantically. He held up a wine glass by its fragile stem. His hand shook in between their faces as he pointed to it. He couldn't find words for once, to describe what he was feeling. He groaned again, rubbing his face.

"I-I can't, I-" another year greeted his cheek and he swiped his arm across it. "This!" He nearly shouted, throwing the delicate glass down, stomping on its cracked remains. "This is what you do every time you pretend," stomp, "every time you say you love me," crunch, "every fucking time that I believe you're telling the truth and have to remind myself that it's all a big Game!" His knee buckled and he fell to the floor, shards of glass embedding themselves in his palms. Ignoring the sharp pricks, he sat until he couldn't bear her silence any more. He didn't dare look up. But he reached out to touch her calf, confirming she hadn't run. When she felt his hand, she immediately made for the door.

"Every fucking time!" He sobbed after her. "What did I do? What did I do!?" He yelled into the emptiness. He stood again, suddenly revitalized but fueled by anger and heartbreak. He yelled and yelled, breaking six more wine glasses and crushing the glass under his feet.

"If my heart can't be whole, why should you!" He cursed the destroyed glass. He yelled more curses until his voice was hoarse and scratchy and he collapsed onto the countertop. The sound of the door roused him and he screeched, "Leave me alone!" to whoever came in. The visitor paused but came in anyway.

"You ran." He accused. "You ran again." She didn't respond, instead taking his hand and turning it over. It was covered in blood, and much of his beloved kitchen was too. She gently picked out each shard from his palm, using tweezers he recognized as her mother's. When she has gotten the visible ones out, she turned on the sink and gently washed over the skin to get the blood off. He hisssd when the water touched his skin, but she held his shaking wrist and continued anyway. When she was done, she wrapped it in a towel and repeated her actions on the other hand. Using some kind of herbal ointment and strips of what looked like old dresses, she bandaged both hands up and led him to the couch in the next room. She sat him down and removed his boots, commanding him sternly "don't move." He didn't answer and she moved back into the kitchen, where he could hear her sweeping and wiping his counters and cabinets. When she came back in, she smiled at him, and curled up beside him.

"Katniss-"

"Somewhere along the line..." she began slowly, cutting him off, "it stopped being an act for me."