Seize Me

Chapter 3

"You tell all the boys 'no'

Makes you feel good, yeah.

I know you're out of my league

But that won't scare me away, oh, no."

Labrinth-Beneath Your Beautiful

"God damn it, Johanna! We're going to sleep as soon as we get on the bus. What could you possibly be doing in there?"

Madge is furiously banging on the door to the dressing room bathroom. The stylist Cinna, a handsome man with smooth chocolate skin and gold-flecked eyes, had brought us the overnight bags he'd packed for each of us for tonight. In them are travel toiletry essentials like body wipes, deodorant, toothbrush and toothpaste, makeup remover, a brush, and a few ponytail holders along with a set of pajamas. Johanna had been respectful enough to let birthday-girl Prim use the bathroom first to get cleaned up. But as soon as Prim had emerged, Johanna had launched herself into the bathroom for her turn.

That had been almost an hour ago.

"Just chill out," Johanna screamed back. "I'm almost done, you bitch. This shit doesn't just happen."

Madge groans. "You're taking your face off, not putting it on. How much time do you need to wipe off the smell of ash and beer, clean your face and change your clothes?"

The door opens suddenly to reveal Johanna, whose tall frame fills a surprising portion of the doorway for someone who looks like a supermodel. She's got her hair wound up in a bun on the top of her head now, in a fashion so tight it makes my own scalp ache. Her club mask is gone, but I'm near exasperation when I see she's applied a fresh coat of makeup. This time it seems she's going for sweet and natural, but I can see the thin line of eyeliner and the mascara coating her lashes. This bitch has been in there prettying herself up for bedtime just so she can impress a guy who will see her for a whole five minutes before we go to bed. I'm even more annoyed when I see what she's wearing.

"Oh my god," Madge groans. "There is no way that's what Cinna packed for you."

Johanna is wearing nothing more than a long, oversized t-shirt and slippers.

She smirks at our horrified expressions. "No, there were pants. But I get hot."

I cross my arms at her and roll my eyes in annoyance, "Can you at least wear them until we get on the bus?"

"No," Johanna says, walking past us coolly. "You're lucky I'm even wearing underwear."

Madge chokes in horror, but neither one of us can get something out in response before Johanna is out the door, heading in search of Prim and the guys.

Madge goes in next and I'm hoping that she'll be quick since we're running out of time and I still need to clean up myself. But despite alll the crap she gave Johanna, Madge has been in there a solid 30 minutes when I finally bang on the door.

"Everything okay in there?" I ask suspiciously.

"Oh," comes Madge's squeaking voice. "Yes, uhm...I just need a few more minutes."

And then, over the sound of running water, I hear the sound of something thick coming from a pressurized can...shaving cream? And then I put all together.

"Madge," I groan, pressing my forehead up against the door. "Really? Didn't you shave earlier tonight?"

"I missed a few spots!" Madge calls back indignantly. "Besides, I didn't know we'd for sure be leaving with them tonight."

I'm suddenly horrified. "Madge," I croak out, "please tell me you're not going to have sex on the bus with Gale. Not with all of us on it..."

"No!" Madge sounds as equally horrified as I am. "That's gross, Katniss!"

"Well," I sigh, "then why are you shaving again?"

Madge is silent for a moment, then calls back in a shrill voice full of panic, "I just need a few more minutes!"

I growl in frustration and turn around to press my shoulders against the door and throw my head back in irritation. When did my friends turn into such floozies?

And then I see Peeta, standing in the doorway to the hallway, staring at me. I'm like a deer caught in the headlights, going utterly still as soon as I see he's there. He's wearing that delicious leather jacket again and his blond curls are messy, like he's been running his hands through them anxiously since we last saw him. This suspicion is confirmed for me when he raises one hand and slides it through his hair while the other hand is partially slipped through a belt loop at his hips. And as I watch him do this I imagine girls all over swooning. The idea immediately annoys me for reasons I can't pinpoint. All I know is that his sudden appearance has me flustered and the only response I can muster is to glare at him.

"Are you..." he asks hesitantly, "Are you going to get cleaned up or are you going like that?"

I look down at my appearance, flustered at what I see. I've got my red leather jacket slung over my arm with my overnight bag. My stilettos, which I got tired of holding, are attached by the straps to one of my belt loops which leaves my feet bare and clumsy looking in comparison to my skinny jeans. My shirt is askew and stretched out from tugging at it anxiously all night, and I can see out of the corner of my eye that my braid is coming apart. I'm a mess, and he can see it.

"No," I sigh, closing my eyes in mortification and irritation. Because my friends can't manage their time I now have to stand in front of the guy that makes my insides tingle looking like a hot mess while the two of them are glossed and shaved to perfection.

If there is ever a time I'm going to hate my friends, it is going to be now.

"Then..." Peeta draws out, leaving the doorway and walking up to me. "...what are you waiting for? We leave in, like, 30 minutes."

I huff in response and push off the door to stand upright and cross my arms. "Because my friends are ridiculous. Madge spent an hour banging on the door to hurry Johanna up and now she's been in there for another 30. Prim took a whole whopping 10 minutes, I don't get it."

Peeta shakes his head and laughs merrily. "Ok," he says, holding up his palms to me defensively. "I understand. If you want, there's a decent bathroom in the bus. I show you where it is, if you want, and that way you'll be ok if we have to go."

I'm simultaneously thrilled and anxious at getting to spend some time—even if it's only a few minutes—with him.

"Sure," I say, casting one last dark look at the bathroom door. "It's not like I'll get to use this one anytime soon, anyway."

Peeta gives a soft laugh and turns away from me to walk back to the hallway. "Alright, Kitty," he says. "Follow me, I'll show you to the bus."

I growl softly in protest as I do a quick jog to reach him. "I hate that name, you know," I say derisively. "Gale only calls me that when he wants to piss me off."

Peeta gives me a broad grin over his shoulder and says, "I know."

Ok. So this tour bus is not what I was expecting at all.

From the outside, it looks pretty normal. It's just a plain old black bus, no fancy band decals on the side or anything to suggest modern rock royalty are traveling inside. Peeta says it's partially for their protection when they pull into a new town, but also because they've only got it on loan for this tour. If this tour pans out like they think it will, they'll probably end up buying it. But for now, they're renting it and trying it out.

I honestly can't see why they would buy it. For a tour bus, it looks pretty drab. Not that I'm a tour bus buff or anything, but I just can't see how this thing is supposed to comfortably transport eight of us across the country for almost an entire summer.

Peeta shows me the hatch on the side of the bus that all of our bags have been stored in. He says the driver can always pull over to let us get something out, but for time's sake I'd better get out anything I want before we get on the bus.

"I don't even know what's in my bag," I mutter. "I didn't pack it."

Peeta shrugs. "Cinna's a mind reader. I'm sure everything you need or want is in your bag."

I give Peeta a skeptical look but start scanning through the bags in the compartment. I don't see my ratty duffle bag anywhere in there. Did they even pack anything for me or did they just assume I'd go bitch on them and refuse to come? Forgetting that I had originally refused to come, I'm pretty annoyed at the absence of my bag. I'm about to give up when I see a pristine set of red luggage with tags on them that say my name. I count four. There are four large luggage pieces with my name on them. I turn to Peeta, horrified.

"What the hell did Gale do?"

Peeta shakes his head, a small smile on his face. "I don't know if Gale had anything to do with this specifically. I know he gave Cinna a budget and told him to get you and Prim tour-ready. I'm pretty sure this is Cinna's doing. Why don't you pull that one out and check it? I'm sure the rest are clothes."

He's pointing to the smaller, almost duffle-bag-like one in front. I pull it toward me and marvel at the crisp canvas material under my fingers. It's brand new all right, fresh out the upscale department store I'm sure Gale sent Cinna to. I grab the black zipper and gently pull it to the side, biting my lip as the new zipper rumbles under my fingers. I hesitate for the moment, wondering what this Cinna character has packed for me. I tentatively pull the bag apart to gaze inside and I'm surprised by what I find.

It's a collection of random things from my apartment. My phone's car and wall chargers, lotion and my face mask for sleeping. My current book choice—a dog-eared selection of Richard Connell stories—is also in there along with most of my other most worn books and a small clip-on reading light for nighttime. I'm impressed with Cinna's selections. He'd obviously picked the books that looked the most used, knowing they must be my favorites. And I'm more relieved than I thought I'd be by their presence. I also see he's packed my laptop and several movies along with a set of earbuds and a neck pillow.

I pull out the car phone charger, the Richard Connell book and the small reading light, feeling much more at peace now that I've got these few familiar possessions with me. Then I zip the bag back shut and put it gingerly back in the luggage compartment. I don't need much tonight since it sounds like we'll be in the next town by the time we wake up, so I'll dig out the rest tomorrow. I turn to Peeta and see he's looking at me quizzically and staring at the book in my hands.

"Richard Connell?" he asks. I nod, raising my eyebrows at him and crossing my arms. I'm immediately on the defensive, not sure what to make of his sudden interest in my literature choices.

He steps closer and comes to stand behind my right shoulder, eyeing my book curiously as he does. I'm suddenly aware of how close he is, so close I can feel his breath on my neck as he looks down at the book. I go rigid immediately, not sure how to process the way the heat radiating off his body travels down my neck to my spine and settling in a wave of tingles straight down to my core. I'm waiting to see if he's going to touch me and I'm surprised to realize I want him to. I wonder how his fingers will feel. Gale's fingertips are rough from his bass...will Peeta's be too? He holds a hand out to me and I'm confused for a minute, not sure what he wants. And then I realize, frustrated, that he wants to see the book.

I sigh and uncross my arms to place the book in his waiting hand while giving him a firm look that leaves no question as to how I'll take criticism of my taste. He examines the book closely, taking in the bent and frayed edges of the cover and where my mom had scrawled my name over the page edges at the top of the book when I'd gotten been assigned the book in high school literature. He runs his fingers along the paperback binding, creased from frequent opening and closing and page marking, and a small smile flits across his face.

"Your favorite book?" he asks.

"For the moment," I respond with a shrug. "He's dark and twisted. He speaks to me sometimes, like his words are soothing. I feel better after I read one of his stories."

"You're an outdoor adventurist?" Peeta asks. I think I detect a hint of teasing in his tone and I immediately bristle at it.

"Is that a problem?" I ask. Peeta doesn't say anything. He just looks me straight in the eyes, his blue a sea of questions he doesn't voice, and I'm irritated further. "My dad took me hunting before he died." I say this in a blunt, fierce tone that I expect to shock him; I hope will shock him—get him to stop asking questions. I expect him to be caught off-guard, but if he is, it doesn't show on his face, which annoys me even more. "The outdoors is kind of my thing now," I conclude sullenly, looking away from him to gaze up at the sky. Back home you could clearly see every star in the sky. But here in the city with all the light pollution we're lucky to see the moon.

I wait for Peeta to question me about my dad in that annoyingly calm voice of his, but instead I hear him thumb through the small book, examining each page briefly before moving on to the next. I drop my gaze back to his face to watch his intent, puzzled expression as he flips through the book. I appreciate the brief moment to examine him while he looks over my book. He really is handsome in a very average way. Soft, pampered skin. Very 'American' blond hair and blue eyes. He gives a quick smile, and I notice for the first time how white and straight his teeth are. Not what I typically go for.

Actually, I tend to lean toward guys closer to my own appearance. Olive skin, brown hair and grey eyes. You could find this type easily back in Gale's and my part of our hometown. He and I had grown up in a town of Panem county called, cleverly, District 12. Panem has 13 towns-slash-districts that, instead of being named, are numbered 1-13. At the center of the districts is The Capital. It houses the most wealthy of Panem County and is the home of Panem Central College, which is where all of us went to college—except Gale, who left Panem altogether to go to New York to study music. On the opposite side of the spectrum, District 12 is known as to hold the least wealthy of Panem, made up mostly of coal miners. And as if living in an already poor district wasn't enough, Gale and I lived in a section of Twelve referred to loathsomely by Twelve's town folk as "The Seam," an impoverish, grimy section of Twelve. There everyone looks like Gale and me? with matching olive skin, grey eyes and dirty brown hair. In drastic comparison, all of the wealthier people of Twelve who lived in town usually had blonde hair, fair skin and blue eyes.

Seam 'brats,' as we're often called by the more uncouth people in town, have always been the people I'd shared a kinship with. As such, I'd always envisioned myself ending up with one of them. At one point I had thought it would be Gale. But, to my surprise, Madge's pretty blonde hair and stunning blue eyes had caught his attention. Gale, with his distaste for stuck up families in the town, had been the last person I'd imagined associating with people outside of the Seam. And Gale taking help from one of them to become a privileged man himself would have annoyed the hell out of me if it hadn't been sweet, loving Madge and her equally kind father to provide the help. And I'd really had no room to criticize when I'd grudgingly allowed Madge's father to pay the deposit and utilities on our apartment all through college.

I'm made aware again that had it not been for him being in Gale's band I probably never would have noticed Peeta, whose blond hair and blue eyes scream of 'town privilege' in a way that makes my blood boil. But no, not even him being in Gale's band would have gotten my attention. It was the way Peeta had conducted himself on the stage that had pulled my eyes to him. He'd been sure of himself, comfortable in his own skin. That was something you didn't see in people from the city. They always seemed to be looking for some sign of approval, searching for something to show them that they belong. I'd only ever seen confidence like his in someone from the Seam, earned through a life of hard work and struggling. And maybe that was what had really attracted me to him. That and the way those ocean-blue eyes sucked me in and drew slow, burning magmas of passion through my veins.

Peeta brings me out of my musings with a small 'huh.' I'm surprised to see he's stopped at my favorite story in the Richard Connell selection, the one short story I've read hundreds of times. The pages are more wrinkled here and you can see the odd stain here or there from food and drink that had been on my hands when I'd been reading. He runs his fingers over the title and asks, "The Most Dangerous Game?" He's referring to the title of the story he had just stopped at. He sounds surprised, as if this isn't what he'd expected.

I shrug. "Yeah. I don't know what it is about it, but there's something to be said about Rainsford. He's clearly the underdog, but he still wins. He's outmatched and facing almost certain death, but he manages to outsmart the General with traps and planning. It's so twisted, but it's my favorite Connell story."

Peeta chuckles and hands the book back to me. Our fingers brush for a second and I feel a small shiver shoot up my arm to my back, where it trails to my abdomen and curls into a delicious pool of attraction. It might have been enough for me to make some witty, flirty remark if I hadn't been so offended by the chuckle.

"What's so funny?" I snap, sticking my new possessions into my overnight bag.

Peeta shakes his head, still smiling. "Nothing," he says. He closes the hatch to the bus and I hear it click as it snaps closed. Then he turns away and leads me to the bus doors, turning to say, "It's just...it's my favorite too."

I'm so caught off-guard that I almost come to a stop at his words. The sudden, involuntary stop is not what the rest of my body was planning for. I fall forward and throw my hands out to brace myself on the closest thing to can stop myself on—Peeta's shoulders.

I get a sensation of steel under plush softness beneath my fingers for the half-second my hands clutch Peeta's shoulders. But then he's turned in front of me and catches my waist in his hands, helping me to right myself. His hands are warm at my hips, the heat moving slowly through my body from the point his hands meet my body. I can feel when the heat hits my face, manifesting itself in a betraying blush.

"Careful," Peeta says softly, a hint of amusement in his voice. He's got a small blush at his cheeks too, and I hope it's in a good sort of embarrassed way and not a 'oh my god, I hope she doesn't read too much into this' kind of way. "We still have to get in the bus, you know."

I scowl and push him away from me, muttering an apology. I sling my bag over my shoulder and turn my head away from him with the pretense of making sure my bag is zipped. I pray my braid is hiding my face as I feel a fresh wave of blush rise on my face.

"Just get me inside so I can get the bar smell off of me," I mutter. "It's making me gag."

Peeta's got a small smile on his face now, but he wisely doesn't say anything. Instead he turns and leads me to the stairs to the bus. I allow myself a brief moment to appreciate the way his ass looks in his jeans as he climbs the bus stairs then I follow after him.

I follow him up the stairs, watching my feet to make sure I don't do something embarrassing like trip again and this time knock him over. As much as I want this boy under me in so many different ways, having him in pain after I've knocked him over and fallen on top of him is not one of them. And after the mortification I've suffered tonight, I doubt I'm ever going to get him in the way my body is screaming for.

It takes me a minute to realize that he's stopped walking and is staring at me expectantly. I look up at him and meet questioning blue eyes. I'm about to ask what he's waiting for when he nods his head in the direction of the main area of the bus, which I've yet to look at. I turn my head and am slightly dazzled by what I see.

The room we're standing in seems to double as a lounging and dining area. The couches that line one side of the bus are a pristine white and look like they'd engulf you completely if you sat down on one of them. Past the two couches is a long marble countertop with a sink, microwave and fancy coffee-maker. There's a small fridge on the other side of it and even a dishwasher under the counter top. Across from the countertop I spot two door panels. One is a solid wood and I suspect it's the pantry. The other door is glass and behind it is an expansive liquor selection and crystal glasses of different shapes.

This is what I'd envisioned a rock star bus to be.

"The beds are through here," Peeta says, stepping in front of me and leading me down the bus. I follow after him, trying not to look like a gawking fool as I take in the elegant decor, including the crystal light fixture that runs the entire length of this section of the bus.

"Pretty ridiculous, huh?" he asks with a wide smile. "Mr. Undersee got it for us, it sleeps eight. It's meant to house an entire team, but we're using it to help transport you guys."

"Sorry to be a burden," I mutter, trailing my finger over the cold marble counters.

"Don't be," Peeta says. "We never get to travel in anything this swanky. Having you guys along was the perfect excuse for an upgraded ride."

Past the small kitchen is a plain, unadorned hallway with two large wood panels running horizontally on each side of the hallway. Beside each panel is a small electronic pad with four small buttons with up and down arrows on them and a small numeric pad beneath them. Peeta hits one of the buttons on a pad and the panel beside it rises up to reveal a bed. It appears to be a little smaller than a twin mattress and is tucked back into the wall. I'm surprised to see the bed already has my pillow on it along with the old blanket my mom knitted for me when I moved out for the college dorms. Peeta reaches inside the bed alcove and turns a knob above the pillow. As he does, a light above the bed turns on and becomes brighter the more he twists it.

"This is your bed," Peeta says with a small smile. "You can leave your stuff here. I can show you later how to program a lock on it so you're the only one who can open the panel. I'll show you where the bathroom is."

I quickly deposit my bag on the bed and pull out the things I won't need, keeping only my toiletries and pajamas still in the bag. Peeta waits patiently for me to finish, then pushes the 'down' button on the left side of the panel pad to close off my little cave. He turns to continue down the hallway of the bus, stopping to show me how to close the doors on either side of the bed area for privacy, then leads me to another small section of the bus. This section has a line of marble counters on one side with two dips in the counter to leave room for two large, comfy chairs. There are mirrors in front of the chairs and I imagine this must be a makeshift dressing area. I know Prim and Johanna will gush over this area for sure, and the idea brings a small smile to my face.

Opposite the small dressing area is a door, which Peeta tells me is the bathroom.

"Go ahead and do your thing," Peeta says as I open the door. "I'll go find everyone else and let them know we're ready to go."

"Thanks," I say softly, stepping into the surprisingly spacious bathroom. "I'll be quick."

Peeta gives me a wide, reassuring smile. My rebellious stomach does a little flop. "No problem," he says. And then he's gone.

I shut the bathroom door and lean against it. I close my eyes and thump my head back against the door in frustration. This whole thing is a very bad idea. The tour, missing work, being around Peeta. It's all a massive mistake that I know is going to end badly. And not just because I know that Johanna is going to do something stupid and fuck things up with Finnick, but because I think I'm going to do something stupid to fuck things up with Peeta and ruin this all for Prim. Which would only make things worse, because my sister is the only reason I'm doing this—to make her happy.

I groan and bring my hands up to run my fingers over my forehead and down either side of my face in resignation. I'm just going to have to remember that this is for Prim, not for the other girls and me to try to suck face with rock stars. I'm hopeful that I can remember myself, that I can focus on making this the best trip possible for Prim. I'm just still doubtful that Johanna is capable of not causing drama. If I thought saying anything would help, I would. But it would only make her pissy and more attracted to Finnick for the fact she's not supposed to have him.

I sigh and open my eyes, taking in the bathroom. It's white to match the rest of the bus's furniture, the countertop a cream marble with gold flecks speckled throughout. There's a large sink in the countertop and the mirror expands all the way across the five-foot counter. Next to the counter is a small toilet, which I vow to use only for emergencies, with a tasteful wreath and candle sitting on the tank lid. Across from the sink and toilet is a small shower, only about four or five feet wide either direction. A small sign is in the upper corner of the shower, requesting minimal use of three to five minute showers in emergencies only unless hooked up to a system.

I set my overnight bag on the counter and dump all of its contents into the sink then place the empty bag on the closed toilet. I strip down to my underwear and bra and fold my clothes up and set them in the bottom of my bag. I then work methodically through each product, starting by wiping down with the cleansing wipes a few times. After some lotion and deodorant, I'm already feeling a hundred times better. I find a small silver case in the pile of toiletries and open it to find a small assembly of tampons and panty liners inside. Amidst the assortment I see a small note on bright gold paper. It says "I saw your calendar-thought you'd need these". I groan and stuff the note hastily back in the silver bag, cursing myself as I throw the little silver pouch back in my overnight bag. Leave it to Gale to employ a guy who not only pays attention to my period calendar but has the observational skills to recognize the brand of tampons under my sink back home and know I'll need more by the end of the tour, then supply them dutifully.

Fantastic.

I undo my ragged braid and brush out the tangles until my hair is loose and free. I shoot in a couple sprays of waterless shampoo to combat the oil and bar smells then brush through it a few more times. I put each product back in my overnight bag until all that's left is my make-up and toothbrush and toothpaste. I set the make-up bag off to the side and brush my teeth, feeling more and more human the longer I brush them.

Words cannot express how much better I feel after the quick ten-minute wipe down. The cleansing wipes did a decent job of getting off the sticky feeling a night in a club can bring. The make-up bag has remover that works perfectly and the accompanying facial lotion is soothing, especially under my eyes where my skin is puffy from the late night this has turned into. I comb out my hair one more time, letting my hair hang long for Prim to braid later. When I reach for the pajamas Cinna has packed, I realize they're my favorite set of pajamas, consisting of my oversized, long-sleeved Panem Central College shirt and a set of gold and black flannel bottoms to match. I'm relieved to see there's a simple white sports bra packed so I can keep my modesty around the boys without having to wear my uncomfortable underwire push-up to bed. I slide into the clothes, a sense of reprieve washing over me as the familiar fabric glides over my skin. I'm much more at ease like this, in clothing that sufficiently covers my skin and a fresh face without make-up. More like myself.

But then I realize that Peeta might be outside the door, waiting for me to finish getting cleaned up. I take a second look, frowning a little at what I see. Now that the make-up is gone my face is blotchy and uneven. My eyes are puffy with exhaustion and my lips are small and pale. The only thing I think I have going for me at the moment is my hair, which is wavy and full of body from the braid. And even that's not going to last for more than twenty minutes.

And so I dig around in the overnight bag to find the small black clutch I'd stashed away after cleaning off the make-up. I won't do much, I tell myself, only just enough so I don't look like the walking dead. I only pull out two things: the concealer and mascara. I mix a little concealer with my facial lotion and rub it in my face. It's just enough to even out my skin a little and make the bags under my eyes less noticeable without actually covering up my skin. The mascara is light, just a slight brushing against my eyelashes. But it makes my eyes stand out a little more and I look more alert than I did before. It's all minor, but it makes me feel a little better about facing Peeta.

And then the reality of what I've just done hits me. I'm no better than Johanna and Madge, primping myself up for a boy when all we're going to do is say 'hi-bye' then go to sleep. Disgusted, I pull out the make-up remover wipes again and rub off everything I've just done. I will not be one of those girls. In fact, I don't even want Peeta's attention. Sure, it would have been nice to have him in bed for a night, but that was when it would have only been a one-night thing. Now that I'll see him almost every day for three months, I'm not the least bit interested. It invites far too much drama for what I'm capable of handling and I really just want to focus on having a good time with the girls and reuniting with Gale. No sex. No boys. No feelings. Just relaxing and reconnecting.

I let out a quick huff and throw everything back into the overnight bag hastily, not bothering to fold anything. I zip the bag shut and throw it over my shoulder before turning to face the bathroom door. I can hear other voices outside the door now. Madge and Prim are talking quickly with a voice I think belongs to Gale. I can also hear Johanna's throaty laugh and the deep baritone of Finnick's answering chuckle. I even think I hear Peeta chime in a time or two.

I reach for the handle, but I stop halfway to the knob. For whatever reason, I'm nervous about going out there and facing the jolly group. It's not that I'm unhappy to be here with them, because I am. I just feel like I'm not as happy as I should be. It takes me a moment, but I'm able to pinpoint my fears. Everyone is so carefree, caught up in the thrill of doing something crazy and spur of the moment. But I'm tramatized by it. Ever since our dad died, I've had to take over caring for Prim and my mom. Mom's spirit had been crushed by our sudden loss of Dad, all the will to care for herself or her children vanishing. Mom had eventually come out of it, but not soon enough to save my childhood.

But Prim's had been saved, to a point. She may have had to take a job after school to help with money, but I'd made sure she wasn't desperate enough for cash that she'd had to miss out on football games or dances. Even in college I'd made sure she could afford every book she'd needed and could get in the best dorm I could manage to scrape together the cash for. And for the hundredth time tonight I remind myself that I'm doing this for Prim, to savor with her this last moment for child-like glee.

And so I make myself reach the rest of the distance and grab the doorknob, turn it, push open the door, and join my friends.

As I step out in the hallway, I can hear that the voices are coming from my left, at the end of the bus. I follow them, reassured by the increasing volume the further down the bus I travel. I find them all sitting in what looks like a small theater. At the very end of the bus, I can see a flat-screen tv playing some random channel I don't recognize. There are black leather couches lining the entire room, the only division between them the small walkway I'm standing in. My friends all sit on the these couches, sipping on what look like glasses of red wine. Yes, I can see it's wine now, the empty bottle sitting on table at the center of the ring of couches. I can tell they're all winding down, everyone in their own set of pajamas. Thankfully Johanna has a blanket slung over her lap so we're spared her bare legs and glimpses of her underwear.

"Katniss!" calls Prim. She looks much less sloshed now, which I attribute to the spread of rolls, meats and cheeses spread out in front of the group. "You're here!"

I smile at my baby sister, able to be more relaxed and teasing about her drunkenness now that we're in the safety of the bus. I risk a glance over at Peeta, who's looking at me keenly with twinkling eyes that seem to hold something I'm unable, or unwilling to process. He gives me a sweet and shy half-smile, then makes a 'wave' movement with his hand next to his ear. He's indicating my hair, which is still loose and unbraided. He mouths 'I like it' with a wink, and I'm imidiatly flustered.

I need to bite my rising affection for this boy in the bud, before it gets out of hand. So, I turn to Prim and say, "Prim, can you braid my hair?"

Prim shakes her head, giggling as the motion throws her slightly off balance. "Not tonight, Kitty-Kat," she mumbles happily, using the nickname only she's ever been allowed to utter. "I couldn't even if I wanted to tonight."

"Peeta said he'd shown you the bathroom," says Gale. "Somebody took too long?" He says this last bit while looking at Madge and nudging her shoulder with his.

Madge blushes. "Well Johanna took nearly an hour!"

I roll my eyes at Madge, plunking myself down between her and Prim.

"Please," I say, taking the glass of wine Prim hands me. "You were at half an hour when I left you."

Johanna snorts. "She only met us just now as we were getting on the bus." She turns to Madge, lifting an eyebrow in amusement. "I'd guess that puts you at nearly an hour yourself."

While Madge is fumbling over excuses, I take one of the plastic plates set out and load up my plate with food, my stomach growling for a midnight snack after all the anxiety the night has brought. The cheese is smooth and creamy, in perfect harmony with the juicy and salty deli meat. I savor the flavors, closing my eyes at the heaven. Really, rock stars get the best grub. I tell myself I'm responding this way to the meat purely on flavor, and not because Peeta is watching me so closely from his seat with Rory and Finnick on the couch opposite me. The hungry look in his eyes may be directed at the spread of food, but for a moment I allow myself to believe it's me he's looking at that way.

I'm washing the meat and cheese down with the last of a roll and my wine when a man's voice comes over the speakers in the room.

"Okay, folks," the disembodied voice of our driver says. "We're getting ready to take off. We'll be in New York in six hours with an ETA of 8am. Wake-up call at 7:30am."

Finnick groans and throws back the last of his wine with a grimace.

"Damn, I forgot how much I hate festival dates," he mutters, staring at his now empty glass.

"F-Festival?" Prim asks mid-yawn. "Tomorrow's a festival?"

"Yeah," Rory says with a sigh while rubbing his eyes with his fists. "It's a big concert with a bunch of big-name bands. We have to do a soundcheck at by 9am, then don't get our turn to play until two. And we can't even enjoy the festival until we're done playing, per our slave driver."

"You have a slave driver?" Johanna asks with a smirk. "Kinky."

Finnick chortles. "She's a joy. You'll get to meet her tomorrow. She's already there now getting everything ready."

"Tomorrow is one of the bigger dates," Gale explains. "With a big exposure event like tomorrow, we'll get more in ticket sales for the rest of the tour. So she's there to make sure everything is 'perfect'."

Suddenly the bus roars to life under us, moving forward with a jolt that makes Prim spill her wine on Johanna's lap.

"Damn it, Prim!" Johanna growls. Luckily, the wine landed only on the blanket on Johanna's lap. And even more lucky, the blanket is the exact same shade of red as the wine we've been drinking.

"Oh my gosh!" Prim exclaims, setting down her glass and picking up a napkin from the table to dabble at the wine of the blanket. "I'm so sorry, Johanna."

Gale chuckles and stands with a stretch then helps pull Madge up beside him. He reaches over and swoops up the blankets corners expertly, wrapping the blanket into a ball with the stain on the inside.

"Alright," he says with a sweet smile to Prim. "I think that's a sign it's time to hit the hay. Katniss," he says, turning to look at me. "Can you show the girls how to work the beds?"

"Where will you sleep?" Madge asks sweetly, giving Gale a quick squeeze on the arm.

"The couches at the front fold out into beds, so Finnick and Peeta will take those. These couches in here also fold out, so Rory and I will be in here." He gives Madge a sweet kiss on the lips. "We're all on either side of you guys, so you're safe here with us."

Rory and Gale help Peeta and Finnick gather up the remainder of the deli spread, which they take up to the kitchen and store in the fridge. Then the girls and I bid the boys goodnight and I show the girls how to close and lock the electronic sliding doors on either side of our bed compartment. When I open up each of our beds, the girls 'ooh' and 'ah' at the beds.

"This is so cool!" Prim exclaims, climbing up to her bunk above mine. "How cool is this?"

"Very cool," Madge responds as she turns off the compartment light. We're immediately plunged into darkness. I turn the crank of the light over my pillow, telling each of the girls how to turn theirs on as well.

"These aren't going to, you know," Johanna asks softly from her bed above Madge's, "close on us during the night, are they?"

I think about this for a moment, not having considered this before. "I don't think so," I finally say. "If yours does, I promise to let you out before lunch."

"Oh, haha," Johanna mutters. She then turns off her light and I can barely make out her turning over, effectively signaling the end of conversation and the beginning of bed.

I chuckle and bid the girls goodnight, sliding my sleep mask over my eyes to shut out the last bit of light coming from Gale and Rory's room under the door. The mask is in instant sleep signal to my brain and I can immediately feel myself drifting off to sleep. I'm nearly out when I hear Prim's soft voice fall from above me.

"Katniss?" Prim whispers softly.

"Yeah?" I respond sleepily, keeping my voice as quiet as possible to avoid Johanna's wrath.

"You're the best sister ever."

I smile at this. "I'll never be as good as a sister as you, Little Duck." I pause for a minute, then add, "I love you."

"I love you too."

And Prim's words echoing in my head are the last thing I hear as I finally fall into sweet dreams of music and ocean-blue eyes.

.x.x.x.

Phew. Sorry this is coming so late at night again, Fourth of July kept me busy...

Thanks to the lovely Peetaismyfuturehusband and Court81981 for taking on the task of betaing for me. You can thank Court for fixing all my hasty grammar errors and PIMFH for pushing for more Everlark in this chapter :)

Everlark is going to start hitting hard in the next chapter, so be ready!

I had originally planned on this being a fluffy 5-7 chapter story, but my Katniss and Peeta wouldn't let me go. Actually, just when I thought I was done writing this they told me a few things I didn't want to hear but couldn't ignore. SO, this is going to be 21 chapters as of now, but I'm still reworking a few things with the new additions so that may change as I go along.

Thanks for all the support everyone, it's been amazing to see the response to this story so early in. Love it? Share it! :)

Find me on tumbler, Simplyabbeycat! I'd love to talk with all of you ;)

Kisses and Love!